


Run for Your Life

by Leoblooms



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Blood, M/M, Mclennon later on, Starrison too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 83,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leoblooms/pseuds/Leoblooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1964, The Beatles are set to perform their third night of their Christmas show in London. But when a deadly new rabies virus starts to spread around to different countries,  the four realize they're in more trouble than they thought. Especially since anyone infected with said virus was reported to be violent and blood thirsty. Will the boys be able to come together and survive this outbreak?<br/>(Inspiration was the amazing fanfic, Pandemic and a rp I was in w/ my friend, Donavan Rodriguez)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first chapter! Sorry that it is a bit short, but I wanted to post this and see how it does. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

28 December 1964  
Things couldn’t have been better for the beloved, well-known Beatles. Thanks to the success of their latest film, A Hard Day’s Night and touring outside of the U.K., Beatlemania has grown with each passing day. Just that day, the boys were set to continue with their Christmas show at the Odeon Theatres in London for the third night.

However, not everything was as well in the rest of the world. A strange case of rabies has broken out in France, spreading to Germany, Italy, Poland and Ireland. Thousands were reported to be infected with the virus and sources said that riots had broke out all over due to the hysteria. Though this didn’t stop The Beatles from performing, even if they were filled with just as much anxiety about it.

The four sat next to each other, right across from Brian, Neil and Mal, in the limousine that was transporting them to their next show. Paul leaned over to look past Ringo to John and George, who was quietly looking outside the window. His big, hazel eyes were wide and showed how worried he was.

“Do you think it’ll come here?” He asked the three next to him. Ringo shrugged, John scoffed and George simply didn’t answer.

“Paul, it’s just rabies. Rabies have been around forever, son.” John answered. “The media just wants to blow it up ‘cause they’ve got nothing better to do.” Paul shook his head, unable to believe that so many would just make this up for attention.

  
“I dunno, they say this rabies virus is different.”

“How’s it any different? You foam at the mouth and act like a loon. Seems about right to me.” Paul knew there was no budging John and decided to shift his attention to George. He noticed how unresponsive George had been this entire ride, and could easily tell he was thinking about Pattie. How could he not, though? With this whole pandemic going on, George had to be worried sick about her.

“You think it’s airborne?” Ringo piped up. Paul instantly sat up and looked to Ringo.

“It’s probably spread through saliva, you know?”

“Or spunk.” John joked.

“Are you trying to say that this is some new STD?” Ringo chuckled, grateful that John lightened the mood the slightest bit. John shrugged his shoulders.

“Well it did come from France. Poor Pierre must’ve fucked the wrong frog.” Both Paul and Ringo let out a small laugh, George once again gave no response. Beginning to feel concern towards his friend, Ringo turned to George, asking if he was feeling okay. George ignored him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Ringo stared at John, unsure about what to do. John slapped a hand on George's shoulder, startling him.

“You alive, Geo?” Annoyed, George swatted his hand away.

“Sod off, Lennon.” he growled.

“George-” Paul started but was immediately cut off by John.

“Don't be hard on him, Macca. Poor Georgie's havin’ a hard enough time dealing with his time of the month.” John said with a smirk that George would have loved to wipe off his face. “Ain't that right?” George turned back to the window as Paul shot John a deathly glare. John gave a look right back, as he was starting to become sick of how his mates were getting. “What's the matter with you lot? One stupid bug goes around and suddenly no one can take a joke.” The way John was acting started to wear on Paul's nerves. There was already enough panic in the air from this, but then John had to add on to the tension by acting like a prick. However, he knew that it was just an act, that John was just as scared but didn't dare show it.

“People have _died_ , John. They said about two-thousand in France alone were reported to be infected. So maybe you ought to take this a bit more seriously instead of like a big joke.” Paul scolded.

“Paul's got a point.” Ringo chimed in. John had to wonder why everyone always seemed to gang up against him. John childishly crossed his arms and huffed.

“Why should I? No one else in this whole bloody country seems to care.” he retorted.

“You know that's not true.”

“It's not? Well Paul, tell me why I haven't heard about any British broadcasters talking about it? I mean, I didn't hear that Denning bloke mention it when he made us do that stupid Beatles on Radio Luxembourg show!” Paul wanted to shoot something back at John, but it was then that Brian interjected to break it up.

“That's quite enough, boys. You've got another show tonight and the last thing we need is for you to have this nonsense on your mind.” Mal and Neil nodded their heads to what Brian was saying.

“Brian's right.” Neil said. “Besides, this bug, virus, whatever has yet to reach England.” Brian agreed, but Paul wasn't satisfied with this. He figured that just because there was no word of the virus being here, didn't mean there wasn't a chance of it suddenly breaking out. If it were to break out, they would be trapped in London of all places, and that brought absolute fear into Paul.

“But Brian, aren't you the least bit worried about this?” Brian shook his head, once again reassuring all of them that it would be alright and that nothing would happen to them on his watch. Paul was about to say something else, but kept quiet when he felt the vehicle stop.

“Alright, boys c'mon. “ Brian urged them out of the limousine. “We've got to stay on schedule, there's only thirty minutes until the show. So get in, make sure you're all ready and absolutely no virus talk.” John had to shake an irritated George back to attention so that he would get out of the door on his side. George reluctantly stepped out, looking off into the distance. Mal tugged lightly on George's arm, telling him he needed to get moving. After a moment, George finally gave Mal a small nod and followed the others who had already rushed inside before a crowd of fans caught them.

 

\---

Making their way to their dressing room, they tried their hardest to rid any thoughts of the virus from their minds. But somehow the thought stayed at the back of their head the entire time they prepared. Still, they all straightened their ties, combed their hair and made sure they looked their absolute best; just as Brian would request of them. Brian alerted the boys that there was about five minutes until showtime and that Mal already set everything up for them. John, George and Ringo exited the dressing room, leaving only Paul and Brian in the room. Paul stood in place for a moment before speaking up.

 "Brian, are you sure this is a good idea?" Brian knew that he was referring to the virus again. He placed a hand on the bassist's shoulder, giving him a smile.

 "I promise nothing will happen, Paul. Mal and Neil will on the lookout and they certainly won't let anything happen either. So please, leave the worrying to me." Giving in, Paul went to catch up with his bandmates.


	2. Chapter 2

As the band walked, Ringo chose to stay close to George even if he paid no attention to him. George kept a fair distance from the others, secluding himself. He gave no emotional response, only a blank expression which Ringo for the life of him, could not decipher. The only possible conclusion was that it related to his possible fear and hidden panic towards whatever this disease will do next. He wanted to try and say something to George, but wasn’t sure if he would just ignore him again.

“George?”

“Hm?” the guitarist hummed, not turning his head.

“You gonna be okay…?” the drummer cautiously asked. George seemed to tense for just a second and grit his teeth. This only made Ringo more tentative than before.

“Yeah, Ritchie I'll be fine.” he replied with another clench of his jaw, still not looking at Ringo. It was obvious that he was lying, Ringo could plainly see that. He knew George wasn't the most talkative, he was the “quiet Beatle,” but this wasn't like him. Ringo wanted to get through to George and find out what was wrong. He just didn't know how. 

“Are you sure? I mean, you seem...off...” The drummer probed, but was immediately shot down.

'Yes. I'm feeling fine."

"Okay, but you know you can tell me if something is wrong, you know?"  Ringo said with the intent to break out what his bandmate was keeping so hidden away from him. However, this only created more tension between the two, as George immediately became  more irate.

“Christ, Ritch are you gonna ride me too?!” George snapped, making Ringo flinch. He opened his mouth to say something back, but decided against it. Defeated, Ringo shuffled to his drums. A man announced their name, causing loud screams of joy to fill the air. The sound of the excited ladies was music to the boys’ ears, it never got old. With wide yet fake smiles, they began to play their first song, “Twist and Shout.”

 

\---

Mal and Neil stood side-by-side at the door to the backstage entrance. The winter chill nipped at their faces as they kept a sharp eye out for anyone that would try to get inside. Neil couldn't help but complain about it being too cold to stand out here. Mal would hear none of it, as he figured that Brian knew what was best. This however, would not stop Neil from voicing his complaints.

“We could just as easily guard them inside rather than out here freezing.” Neil whined.

“Yeah, but the boys really are on edge about this virus,” Mal reasoned, “so Brian thinks it would be best for us to be here. That way they feel more at ease knowing nothing will get in.”

“I'm still gonna complain about it.” Neil said. Mal grinned, giving the man next to him a playful shove. The two smiled at each other and shared a laugh. But suddenly, Mal perked up when he noticed a few shadows in the distance moving slowly towards them. The shadows limped and looked as though they were dragging they're feet through the dirt.

“What's that?” Neil asked. The shadows moved closer and it became clear that it was a group of five girls. The two men figured that they were just groupies who would want to see The Beatles backstage. Mal took a large step forward with his arms crossed to make it clear to the ladies that they would not be gaining access. Mal was sure that everything would be under control and taken care of once he scared them off. That was until the girls broke into a sprint towards them and they saw white foam fly from their open mouths. Before they could react, the girls surrounded them. Two of them pinning Mal and Neil.

“SHIT!” Neil let out as he tried to push the girl off. He couldn't believe the strength she had, even Mal couldn't shake the one on him without a struggle. Mal gripped her body and using all of his strength, he was able to throw her off of him. He attempted to fight off the others, not realising that Neil was still pressed to the ground. “MAL HELP! MAL-ACK!” was all he could get out as the girl’s fingers were stuffed into his mouth, prying his jaw wide open. She leaned over his face, letting out a sickening gurgle and spewed the sticky foam into his mouth. Neil retched as he felt the liquid slide down his throat. The weight of the girl was lifted, but he had yet to move. Suddenly, he felt no need to fight the creatures. The urge was now directed towards Mal. A growl left Neil’s lips as he peered over at him.

Taking no notice of this, Mal’s fist collided with one of the girl's face.

“They're not so tough! Right, Neil?” Mal turned, but jumped in alarm at the terrible sight. It was Neil, eyes bloodshot, and snarling as foam dripped from the corners of his mouth.

“You're right, Mal. They're not so tough.” he opened the door and began to push the group of girls inside. “So I think Brian's little boys could handle them just fine.” Mal quickly grabbed the fabric of Neil's shirt, trying to pull him away from the door. The backstage door already slammed shut and Mal knew he was too late to stop him.

“What the FUCK?!” Mal tried to move Neil out of his way so he could stop them, but Neil saw his opportunity and clamped his teeth onto the flesh of Mal's arm. Skin was brutally ripped from his arm and gruesome howls of pain were released. Too distracted by the blinding pain, Mal was easily tackled. The last thing he felt was Neil biting into his neck, and everything went blank.

 

\---

Brian watched the boys perform from the back, smiling to himself. Everything went so well so far. There were no issues as the four began their next song, “I'm a Loser.” Just when Brian thought nothing could go wrong, he heard a scream. It was Mal. Without a second thought, Brian made a dash for the backstage door. While running, Brian noticed the group of young girls rushing inside, towards the stage. Deciding that checking on Neil and Mal was much more important than stopping a few groupies, he hid under the refreshments table until the group of girls passed. His footsteps quickened with each second and his heart raced. He reached the door and yanked it open only to wish he didn't. He gasped loudly at what he saw.

Mal was lying on the ground, with Neil hunched over him and blood and foam dripping from his open wounds. Brian brought a hand to his mouth when Neil suddenly turned to him, showing that he looked no better. A haunting grin that Brian would never forget, spread across Neil's bloodied face as he rose to his feet. Brian finally found his voice.

“Mal? Neil? W-what's happened…?” he rasped, taking slow steps back while Mal slowly picked himself up. He looked into their eyes, but no longer saw the men he knew looking back. He knew they were long gone. The only response he got from the two was a low growl. Abruptly, they leaped towards Brian, but he reacted quick enough to slam the door in their faces. He pressed himself against the door, using all of his strength to keep the door shut. The effort became pointless to Brian since the two together were clearly much stronger than him. As the two on the other side put their force on the door, Brian knew it wouldn't be long until they were inside. As he forced his trembling body against the door, a thought crossed Brian's mind. The group of girls, they had to be infected with this horrible disease. He had to get to the boys fast. Not nearly as concerned about Neil and Mal anymore, Brian launched himself off of the door and hustled to get to his boys before it was too late.

\---

“ _Baby's in black and I'm feeling blue_.” John and Paul sang out. “ _Tell me, oh what can I do?_ ” they finished, taking in the claps and screams. One scream stood out to them, though. It wasn't the ones they were used to. This one was much more high-pitched and even demented sounding. They turned to a girl running up and throwing herself onto John. John looked to his bandmates and laughed.

“Wait till after the show, will ye?” he gently tried to push her off, but her hold became tighter. “C'mon now, luv get off me.” John said a little more sternly. He yelped when he felt her sharp nails digging into him. Her nails were ripping right through the of his suit. “I said get the fuck OFF!” he threw her off, only to become aware to the foam leaking from her mouth. John ducked as the girl lunged towards him, sending her flying into the audience. The boys watched with horror as a woman in the audience was attacked. The skin of her face ripped off by the other girls's fingernails, only to have foam be spit out into the bleeding scratches. The excited screams quickly turned shrill and blood-curdling. John gawked at the horrific sight, but couldn't for long once Paul called out to him.

“John, there's more!” he yelled, indicating the four other girls coming towards them. George was the first to react, grabbing his guitar, he jumped in front of the nearest one. He cracked the guitar over her head, knocking her down. Both Paul and John had no other choice but to follow his lead and utilize their instruments. Ringo sat, frozen like a deer. Afterall, he didn't have a guitar or anything else to use. George watched as an infected moved towards Ringo.

“Ritch, do something for christ’s sake!” Ringos eyes widened as she approached him. He tightly gripped the drum sticks in his hands, then an idea popped into his head. Raising his hands, he drove the drum sticks deep into her eyeballs. Dark blood oozed from her eye sockets. This elicited a loud screech from the girl. When she went to pull out the drum sticks, Ringo delivered a hard punch to her nose. With the sound of a crack, she fell to the floor. Ringo let out a few breaths and shifted his eyes to his bandmates to make sure they were fine. Luckily, they were able to handle themselves, but the same couldn't be said about their audience.

The amount of infected increased greatly in so little time. All because of one.

“We can't fight all of them!” Paul cried.

“You won't have to!” Relief filled them when they laid their eyes on Brian. Brian looked at his frightened boys, feeling guilty for not knowing this would happen.

“Brian, I’d call you a sight for sore eyes, but I don't think that bird Ringo got would be able to even see you!” John said.

“No messing about, John! Now boys, listen we need to get out of here as fast as possible. We can get out through the backstage exit.” The four boys didn't need to be told twice, following Brian.

“What about Neil and Mal?” George asked, unknowingly reminding Brian that the two could still be at the door waiting for them. However, when they got there Brian released a sigh when he saw that they weren't there.

“Thank God, they must've wandered off…”

“What are you goin’ on about?” John inquired. Brian told him he would explain later, urging them to keep moving.

“But what about Mal and Neil?” Paul called out. “We can't leave them!” Brian gritted his teeth.

“I told you I'll explain later.” 

"But what about them? Don't they matter?!” Paul protested. It was too much for Brian and he couldn't help but snap.

“No Paul, because they've been infected!” Brian exclaimed, regretting how he let it come out when he looked at Paul's hurt expression. The shocking news pierced each member like a sword.

“Mal and Neil are infected…?” George questioned, hoping it wasn't true. Brian solemnly nodded. John thought for moment.

“Hold on, you were back here too weren't ye? Couldn't you have done something?” John felt his anger rise.

“John, don't do this right now-”

“Why'd you let this happen?”

“I didn't _let_ it happen, John!” Brian answered, irritated.“ I didn't know what was going on until it was too late! Now I've got to make sure something like that doesn't happen to any of you! So before you accuse me of _letting_  it happen, remember that Im trying my hardest to protect YOU!” John went silent, looking to the side. His face still showed anger towards his manager as he clenched his fists. Brian tried to calm himself, knowing this would get them nowhere. His voice became gentle. “Now come on, we need to go.” Paul looked to the ground, the reality of it all setting in. Two of their close friends were monsters and they could do nothing about it. John lightly tugged on Paul's arm. John felt his anger melt into pity as he looked into Paul's wet, hazel eyes

“C’mon, Macca.” John pulled Paul outside with the rest of them.

“Where do we go now?” Ringo spoke up.

“First thing's first, we need a car.” said John, scanning the area. “There's gotta be one lyin’ around here.”

“But then what will we do?” Ringo asked meekly. John didn't speak. Growls and hair-raising cries echoed throughout London. The five survivors knew they weren't safe here. But where would be safe?


	3. Chapter 3

“Well,” George began. “What about the countryside?”

“What good will that do? The virus won't just magically go away when it takes a whiff of animal shit.” John retorted, carefully examining the rips in his clothes.

“But there aren't as many people there. We could hide out until everything blows over.” Argued George. Paul and Ringo agreed with George, which irritated John to no end.

“You guys can't be serious! It's a bullshit idea! “

“Just how is it a bullshit idea?” Paul inched closer to John. “It makes more sense than staying in London!”

“George is right, John. We'd be much better off in the countryside with less people around. It would be simpler for us to take shelter until help arrives.” Brian said. John shrugged his shoulders.

“Alright fine, let's all just listen to the bloody baby of the group. Hey while we're at it, let's just make him the fucking leader.” he sarcastically suggested, earning a glare from George.

“John, stop acting like a spoiled child!” Brian chided, nowhere near in the mood to deal with John's complaints.

“Yeah, give it a rest.” George spat. John dropped to his knees dramatically, crawling up to George with his hands pressed together. His head dropped as he began to shout.

“I'm so sorry, oh wonderful leader! Please grant me forgiveness.” John cried out. He threw his arms out and bowed to the ground a couple times before Brian spoke against him.

“Enough, John!” Brian snapped. “Get off the ground and act like an adult!” Pushing himself off of the ground, John muttered under his breath. Brian groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Like I was saying, it's a good idea, George, but John is right we do need a car first.” Brian figured that there must be a car somewhere with it's keys left in the ignition. It was to unlikely that during an outbreak, people would be more concerned about saving gas than running for their lives.

“We should get looking then.” Ringo said. Brian hummed in approval, leading the way down the street. You would think that in the middle of an apocalypse, the four bandmates would be less picky about which car to pick. But you would be wrong. The four judged each car carefully, making sure it was to their liking.

“How about that one?”

“Nah, too bright.”

“This blue one's nice.”

“Yeah, if you wanna look like a bloody queer!”

“That car's too small.”

“This one's too ugly.”

“This one’s too small.”

“That car has a weird shape.”

“Boys, we are not shopping for a car.” Brian scolded in a stern tone as they moved between car to decide on which one they wanted. “We are trying to survive. So please, let's focus on finding a car with keys and gas. “

“I found something!” Ringo called to the others, beckoning them over to see. There ahead, was a taxi cab. Its doors were swung open and the window on the right was completely broken. There was also smeared blood on the windshield and large chips in the black paint. Despite this, the car seemed like it w in working condition.

“That's great, but are the keys inside?” George questioned.

Ringo stepped closer to inspect inside the cab. He gasped and felt his stomach turn at what he saw. The cabby sat, slumped in the driver's seat, with a large bullet hole in his right temple. Fresh blood ran from the gaping wound in his head, and had stained the man's clothes and car. Ringo’s eyes wandered down the cabby's body to realize that in his hand was a pistol. Ringo guessed that the man would have rather died at his own hands than those freaks.

His friends saw his distraught and came to his side to see what it was. Paul hugged his own torso as John instinctively put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“I guess we'll have to move the body.” George said flatly, grabbing for the handgun and handing it to Brian. “We could probably use it.” John left Paul's side to assist George.

Neither of them thought they would have to carry a dead man in their lives. George grimaced when he looked at the man they dropped on the ground. Sadness surged through him, this man could have had a girlfriend or even a family that thought he would come back home tonight. That he left this morning for his job and would come back just in time for a dinner that wouldn't happen. Hell, maybe he didn't even have a girlfriend or a family, maybe he just had a dog waiting at the door for its master. Either way, George felt awful thinking about it because it just brought back thoughts about Pattie and if she was still alive. Shaking his head, he suppressed the invading thoughts. He knew he had to get to their flat to check on her, immediately.

George was about to sit in the driver's seat, but was pushed back by John.

“Hold on, who said you were driving?” John argued.

“John.” Brian warned.

“I'm just asking a question, Bri. If you ask me, I think any of us would be better drivers than George.”

“You don't even have a license!” George countered.

“So? I'd still drive better than you!”

“Yeah, if you call driving into a bush better.” John's face turned a light tint of pink.

“John, just let George drive. Honestly, why do you have to be difficult?” Paul said, defending George. The color of John's face became a darker red, here was his own mate once again going against him. Condescendingly talking to him as though he were a child.

“I'm not difficult, I just don't like bein' bossed around by a fucking child!” John yelled a bit too loud. A roar could be heard in the distance, telling the group that more infected were near.

George wasn't going to stand there and waste time while Pattie could be waiting for some sign that he was okay. Grabbing John by his blazer, George threw him to the side and quickly took his seat behind the wheel.

John stomped over to George with all intentions to force him out of the car and give him a good punch to the gut. But John felt something stop him. He spun around to see Paul staring at him quietly whispering,

“Don’t.” John gave up and sat next to Paul and Ringo in the backseat as Brian sat in the passenger seat.

George started the car, giving one more glance at the corpse of the cabby before driving off in the direction of his flat. He hoped with all of his heart that Pattie would be there. He was so focused on this that it slipped his mind to even inform the others of their little stop. No one took notice to that though. They were all too distracted by the carnage unfolding before their eyes. Cars crashed into poles, store windows smashed to bits, dried blood caked on the sidewalk and corpses littered everywhere. It could be safe to assume that they were of people who would rather take their own loves than let those creatures turn them.

As the cab rounded a corner, the first to take notice about where they were was Ringo. He peered around them and recognized it not a second later.

“Ain't this Knightsbridge?” George didn't give him an answer, pulling up to Whaddon House. Ringo didn't understand. Why did George drive them here? “George, why are we at our flat?” George craned his neck to see Ringo in the backseat.

“I've got to make sure Pattie's alright.” John was next to perk up. He now understood why George wanted to drive so badly. He was worried that if someone else was driving, they wouldn't agree to drive over here to check on her. He worried that they'd say it was a waste of time and focus on driving them to their original destination. George went under their noses and tricked them. Just thinking about it infuriated him.

“So you wasted our time and gas, which by the way George, isn't too easy to get right now,” John fumed. “And drove us here instead of out of London and away from this bleedin' virus, just so you could check on a bird you met this year!”

“Calm down.” Paul said, putting a hand on John’s arm, trying to cool him down. John knocked it away, swinging open the car door, stepping out. He flailed his arms as he raged on.

“No, I'm not gonna calm down! He fuckin' LIED to us! He said he was gonna drive us to the fuckin' countryside away from this shit and he didn't! He put all of our lives in danger, and for what?! To check up on some fuckin' girl!” George slammed the door behind him and came face-to-face with John, looking at him straight in the eyes.

“Shut up, John. At least I give a shit about my girl!” he said.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I've been thinkin' about Pattie since I heard about this virus, but not once have I seen you the slightest bit worried about Cynthia or Julian! You never even thought to try to get a hold of her or anything!”

“Well I'm sorry, Harrison I didn't realize that the only way to show my concern was to mope around and act like a fuckin' prick!”

“Well you are a prick, so I guess you’re already halfway there!” George glared daggers at John. Every part of him was currently fueled with complete anger towards his bandmate. That was when John pushed it too far.

“How do you even know she's alive?” George's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. He absolutely saw red.

“What?!”

“ I'm just saying that for all you know, she could be one of them too!” That completely set George off. Blinded by pure rage, he pinned John to the road, smashing his fist into the side of his face as hard as he could. Then he hit his nose, causing blood to spurt from his nostrils. Paul, Ringo and Brian quickly jumped into action and grabbed George in an attempt to pull him off. George was probably the skinniest of them all, but they still had trouble dragging him away from the man under him.

“George, stop get off of him!” Ringo shouted pulling him with all his might. The three finally ripped him away from a stunned John. John wiped at the blood that dripped from his nose and rubbed his bruised cheek.

“You son of a bitch.” he said. “I should beat ye to a bloody pulp! I was just trying to warn you before you get your damn hopes up about saving your precious dame!”

“Don't say shit like that.” George replied, running his fingers down his knuckles that had a bit of John's blood on them. He hated John right now. He hated the way he treated him, his attitude this entire time, but most of all he hated him because he could be right. He could be exactly right about Pattie and George _despised_ him for that.

“I'm going in.” George said, walking up to the building entrance. Ringo offered to join him, but George declined, despite Ringo's pleads to not go alone. “I want it to just be me and her. I don't want to overwhelm her.” Brian understood, moving to the front of the group, and handed George the handgun.

“Just in case. Please be safe and yell if you need us.” George nodded his head and turned to go inside.


	4. Chapter 4

The inside looked just as he expected over turned chairs and people's possessions scattered about in disarray. He walked slowly, keeping his eyes peeled for any infected. Having no intention of taking a risk of the elevator breaking, George took the steps up to the second floor where their flat was.

When he rounded the corner for the next flight, he spotted one of the infected. It was a woman with a white top and pink skirt, both completely ruined by tears and blood. She attempted to lunge at him, but George shot at her. The first shot only knocked her back, but the second shot got her in the head, killing her almost instantly. George stepped over the body, disgusted. He thought it was all so fucked up, but didn't have the time to go on thinking about that.

His fingers reached for the keys in his pocket, but didn't bother to grab them since the door to their flat was left open. Whimpering could be heard on the other side of the door, there was no doubt that it was Pattie. George rejoiced knowing that she was still alive. The door creaked open and the guitarist stuck his head through, only to be met by Pattie's cries.

“Please no, go away please…” she murmured softly through hiccups, curled up on the floor. The flat was just as bad as the bottom floor. There was broken glass covering the floor and almost all of the furniture was destroyed.

“Pattie, it's just me.” George rushed to he side, wanting to comfort her. Her arms were thrown around his neck once she recognized who he was. She sobbed, he face buried in the crook of George's neck.

“What's happened?” he asked, rubbing her back soothingly.

Calming herself down, she spoke, “I heard of what happened at the Odeon Theatres and didn't know what to do. I-I thought I could lock myself in here, but a woman came knocking. She sounded so scared, I had to let her in.” George remembered the woman he just shot down on his way here.

“Was she… infected?” Pattie nodded. “Yes, but she didn't actually change until later on.” George was confused. Why did it take so long for her to change, but for others it seemed almost instant. “She showed me that she was only scratched, but I guess some of that white foam got in.”

“It probably takes longer depending on how the foam gets in you and how much gets in.” he added. Pattie continued on with her story.

“So she changed and I didn't even see it coming…”

“What?”

“She attacked me.” She finished.

“Were you bitten or anything?” Pattie's face contorted and she turned away as another sob escaped her. Without turning back to George, she showed him the underside of her forearm where a large bite mark was left. Oozing from it was the red liquid George knew too well and the white foam. George's heart sank as he could only stare at the mark. He felt his own eyes fill up with tears. He could only shake his he was head and mutter “no.”

Pattie placed a gentle hand on his one hand that still held the pistol. He locked eyes with her as she spoke.

“George,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I don't want to be one of them.” George caught on to what she was getting at fast.

“No, Pattie you won't be one of them. I know you, you're strong, you can beat this.” Pattie smiled sadly, shaking her head.

“You know that's not true.” George wouldn't hear it.

“It is! You're gonna be okay!”

“George, no one is immune to this.”

“How would you know?”

“Please George, I don't want to change into one of those creatures. I don't want to hurt you.” George pulled Pattie close, burying his face in her hair. She kept her hand on his, not moving it. “Please…” George couldn't. It hurt his heart, he loved Pattie, he saw a future with Pattie and now it was all being stolen away from him. This virus was taking away everything he loved and now it was going to take Pattie. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

“I can't…” he said, tearfully. Pattie moved back from George, putting her hands on both sides of his face. She quietly gazed at him and he gazed back. Both wordlessly saying, “I love you.” And for just a moment since this whole apocalypse happened, there was peace in that silence.

Then it was broken by Pattie's violent coughing. George noticed her skin pale, it wouldn't be long. He brought her face back up to his and kissed her forehead lightly before standing up. Checking the ammo he saw he only had a single bullet left. He pointed the pistol directly at her head. She released an ear-shattering screech and he pulled the trigger, firing the last bullet.

 

\---

A gunshot rang out through the air. Everyone turned their attention to the flat, the source of the noise.

“Something's wrong.” Paul said.

“Shit, Paulie what makes you think that?” John asked sarcastically. Paul ignored his jab, knowing they had to get inside and help.

They all hurried into the flat, towards the second floor. The body of an infected sprawled out on the steps was the first warning sign that something terrible had happened. Ringo and Paul were first to burst in, ready to fight whatever was in the flat. But there were no infected. There was only George, sitting on the floor, holding the lifeless body of Pattie Boyd close to him.

“George?” Ringo spoke up, taking a few steps closer to him. George turned his head to look at him. Ringo saw how swollen, puffy and red his eyes were from crying and felt pangs of sadness in his chest.

George could only respond with a small, feeble chuckle.

“John was right, Ritch. He was fuckin' right…” He hugged her corpse tighter, not caring about the blood staining his outfit. Ringo reached down and pulled George upwards, helping him stand.

John felt guilt stab at him for everything he said. He looked to Paul, then the glass covered floor. He walked in front of George, not sure what to say at first.

“I…” he began. “I'm sorry…” Pattie fell to the floor as George wrapped his arms around John, tightly. His body wracked with heavy sobs. John stood there, keeping one hand on George's back while Ringo stroked his frayed hair. Soon both Brian and Paul came over to comfort George. They rubbed his back and tried to tell him comforting words.

“It'll be alright, Georgie.” Soothed Paul, still rubbing his back.

“Yeah, you've still got us.” Ringo said.

“I want to be the first to apologize for that.” John said, trying to lighten the mood. George cracked a small smile, wiping at his eyes. His bandmates could get on his nerves, but he was glad to have them. His smile faded though when he turned back to Pattie on the floor.

“I don't want to leave her this way. She deserves better.” The others understood were willing to do what he needed.

“We could wrap her up with the bed sheets.” Ringo said, tearing the bedsheets off of the mattress. George carefully wrapped her body up until she was completely covered. He carried her over to the mattress and placed her down, giving her wrapped head one last kiss. It was difficult for him to leave with everyone, but somehow he conjured up the strength to do so.

 

\---

The boys and their manager headed toward the cab, Paul, John and Ringo quietly sat in the back seat. Brian stopped George before he could get into the driver's seat.

“Are you going to be alright?” George shrugged his shoulders. How was he supposed to answer that? How could anyone, after blowing their girlfriend’s brains out, answer that?

“Yeah, I've gotta keep going, Pattie would've wanted that.” He responded. Brian gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“How about you let me drive? Take a little rest.” George gratefully agreed, allowing Brian to take the driver's seat. The engine roared while George gave one last glance at the flat and turned away. He lied back against the seat, closing his eyes as the car began to move. The feeling of drifting off was absolute bliss


	5. Chapter 5

Ringo watched as George slept soundly in the front seat, noticing how peaceful he looked. His head leaned to the side, his bottom lip hung slightly open and his eyelids were lightly shut. By the way he looked, you would never think it was the middle of an apocalypse. Ringo almost envied George until he saw his brow furrow and his eyes screw shut tight. His body twitched and Ringo could hear George whimper with discomfort. He almost reached over to wake him, but George's body jerked awake as the car was abruptly stopped.

Confused, Ringo looked outside. The car was stopped in front of a small hardware store.

“What are we doin' here?” Ringo asked.

“Well, I figured that if we're going to live through this, we'll need some defenses.” Brian said.

“How? By offering to fix their leaky pipes if they let us live?” asked John, sarcastically.

“Don't be cheeky, John.” said Brian, leading the boys inside the store. It was shocking to see a place that wasn't completely torn to bits. Sure there were obvious signs of looting, a window was broken and the cash register was busted open, but other than that it was fairly untouched. Most of the tools remained, giving the five survivors a wide selection. Their eagerness to get their hands on a tool could compare to a child in a toy store.

Quickly, they separated. George and Ringo went to one aisle, John and Paul to another and Brian went off to an aisle by himself.

“Paul, look!” John held a mallet firmly, swinging it over his shoulder. “Hey, looky here, Paul! I'll be like one of them Looney Tunes fellas.” John called to Paul.

“You already are a looney.” Paul giggled, picking up a large axe. He carefully inspected it and swung it, not noticing John creep up behind him.

“I always knew you were a fan of big tools.” John whispered close to him, his hot breath tickling the back of Paul's neck. The blood rushed to the bassist's face which caused John to snort.

“Look at you, son, red as an apple!” John laughed, pointing at the deep red blush on his face.

“Bastard.” Paul playfully punched John's arm. John still wore a large smile on his face, and Paul couldn't help but feel his heart flutter at the sight of it. He promptly came back to reality, pushing those thoughts away. He was confused as to why he suddenly had such a feeling go through him, but attempted to brush it off like it was nothing. Paul felt himself being yanked on.

“C'mon, Macca let's go see if George, Ringo or Eppy found anything.” he said, pulling Paul to the other aisles.

 

\---

“This looks good.” George said to himself, gripping a monkey wrench he picked off of a shelf. Ringo agreed, still thinking about when he saw George sleeping in the car.

Obviously, he was dreaming about Pattie. But what could have happened to cause him to react that way? Ringo just had to know. He kept his back to George, scanning the wall of shelves for a weapon of his own.

“George.” He said.

“Yeah, Rings?”

“Earlier in the car,” Ringo started, “I saw you were taking a nap.”

George gave a small laugh. “Is that a problem?” Ringo shook his head, telling George that that wasn’t why he was bringing this up. “Well what is it?” Ringo now faced him.

“It's just that, well, it looked like you were having a nightmare…” George's smile faded, and his face suddenly became much more serious. George shrugged his shoulders.

“So? Lots of people get nightmares, Ritchie.” George said, trying his best to seem nonchalant.

“I know, but after, you know… what just happened… I thought that your dream might've been connected-“

“Hey how about this weapon?” asked George trying to change the subject. He handed a hatchet to Ringo. “I think you could get around with this. Don't you think, Ritchie?” The drummer didn't respond right away. He wanted to get back on George's nightmare and find out what it was, but he saw George had no intent to tell. Ringo looked at the hatchet in his hands and nodded, knowing it was pointless to keep bugging George.

“Yeah, looks good.” Ringo answered.

“Hey no fair!” John suddenly yelled at the front of the aisle. “Paul already called having an axe!” As him and Paul got closer, John squinted and leaned in to get a better look at the hatchet. Then he turned to Paul. “Ah well, Paulie at least your tool's bigger.” he said, giving Paul a pat on the shoulder.

“Says you.” said Ringo, chuckling at his own innuendo. John theatrically gasped with a hand on his forehead.

“Such a dirty boy!” John scolded in his over the top granny voice. The four giggled childishly. John noticed Brian and called out to him. “Thank God you're here to put an end to this filth, Eppy!” Brian shook his head with a tiny grin that he tried to hide.

“Does everyone have what they need?” Brian asked as he came over with a sledgehammer in hands.

“For the most part.” Paul said.

“Yeah, I'd have liked to find a sandwich between the wrenches, but I guess you can't get everything.” added John.

“There should be a store near here where we can pick up some food and water.” answered Brian. “But we better go now if we hope to find anything that hasn't taken by other survivors.”

“Well what are we standin’ around here for? I'm starved!” George spoke up.

“You're always starved.” Paul playfully chided as they walked back to the cab.

 

\---

The cab rolled along the empty road as everyone kept their eyes peeled for any store that could possibly have supplies. So far there was nothing to be found since most of the stores that sold food seemed to have been ransacked. They were easily able to see through the cracked and broken windows that the shelves were completely empty.

At last they spotted a convenience store that looked like it had some potential. With a sliver of hope, the four boys and their manager stepped out of the car to look inside of the building. They each held their weapons close, trying to prepare themselves for what might ever be near.

John slowly let the door squeak open, not counting on a small bell to tell the store they were there. A small groan could be heard. John was the first to see a man hunched over a dead body in the middle aisle. When the chime of the bell echoed throughout the store, he looked up to reveal the muscle tissue of the man beneath him hanging from his teeth.

Just like a savage animal, he then lunged towards them. Without thinking twice, John swung the mallet, similar to how you would swing a baseball bat, and knocked the infected man down. He swung the mallet down on his head, just to make sure he wouldn't get up. Bits of broken skull and rotted brain matter scattered across the floor. Paul swallowed the vomit that crept up his throat and everyone else turned away for a moment. Paul thought he would be used to seeing such gore, but each time he saw it, it was like seeing it for the first time. He still felt the same disgust and sickness each and every time. Staring at the blood and rotted brains, Paul hoped that sooner or later something would happen and he would jolt awake in the safe bed of their hotel room. But nothing happened and he was still there in that convenience store.

John peered around to see if there were anymore, but the rest of the store was empty.

“It's all clear.” John said, giving a thumbs up to the others.

“Alright, boys, you know what to do. Grab everything you can carry, especially water. Try to avoid things that need to be refrigerated because chances are they are spoiled since the electricity’s out.” Brian instructed, releasing them into the store.

Each of them took a different aisle, filling their arms while also scrutinizing every corner for any infected that might be hiding.

Paul took the responsibility of getting water. He made his way down the once refrigerated section, passing the freezer filled with melting ice cream. Paul crinkled his nose at the sight of melted ice cream that dripped out into a small lake of chocolate and vanilla. He carefully stepped over the puddle to the fridge that held individual water bottles, loading as many as he could possibly carry.

He was about to head back to the front until he heard John.

“While you're over there, Paul grab me a soda!” John yelled from across the shop.

“I've got me hands a bit full!” Paul said back, turning to the array of sodas behind the fridge door. John didn't acknowledge him and only responded for Paul to grab him a coke.

Paul groaned, slowly pulling the door open with only two free fingers. Then he used the same fingers to get a grasp on the top of the bottle, trying to balance all of the waters and axe at the same time. There was one point throughout this procedure where Paul thought the waters were slipping, but he was able to stop them while also holding the coke between his fingers. He felt slightly proud of himself for doing that.

Strolling back to the group, the puddle of melted ice cream he had stepped over before slipped his mind and didn't come back until he felt his foot slide out from under him. He fell with a loud crash with his axe making a clanging noise when it hit the surface. Waters rolled everywhere and coke spilled from the broken bottle. John dropped everything to the floor.

“Shit, are you aright?” John rushed to Paul as he sat up. The others soon followed, crowding around him while still holding their supplies.

“Yeah I think so-AGH!” he hissed, clutching his right leg. In a panic, John questioned what was wrong.

“He probably twisted his ankle when he slipped.” said Ringo. “He should be fine, we can help him to the car, but we should load the supplies on. John gave his bandmate a nod.

“We'll be right back, don’t move.” he told Paul, standing up and going back to pick up everything he dropped.

“No need to worry about that.” Paul gave a crooked smile, still holding his leg. John reassuringly smiled back as they left the store. The bell rang as they left him.

Paul sat, patiently waiting for his friends to return. He thought he heard their footsteps, but quickly remembered that the bell on the door would have rung. He felt goosebumps all over his body when the realization that someone else was still here came to his head. The world seemed to move in slow motion and he hesitantly turned his head to look behind him. The thought to be dead man stood there motionless, eyeing him up as though he were a turkey dinner. It was completely silent and Paul suddenly forgot how to breathe as he felt his heart pound out of his chest. The man growled and ran towards him.

 

\---

John made sure not to waste time, sloppily throwing everything into the car. Brian wanted to scold John for being so unorganized, but decided against it due to the circumstances.

“Alright, so I'll help Paul out of the store while George and Ringo gather the waters.” John ordered.

“What about Brian?” asked Ringo.

“Brian can wait in the car and be ready to drive off.”

“Like in a bank heist?” asked George.

“Yeah, but with an apocalyptic twist.” John smiled for a brief moment before turning serious again. "Well? What are you lot waitin' around for? Let's go!” John barked, leading Ringo and George inside when a cry, unmistakably Paul's, hit their ears.

“Christ, c'mon!” John yelled, urgently.

 

\---

“SOMEONE HELP!” Paul screamed at the top of his lungs the second the man started running towards him. He didn't know what to do and felt as though he was doomed.

That was until he remembered the axe near him. Paul rotated himself to where the axe was and saw it was behind him, just out of reach. He had to use his legs to give himself a push to reach it. Paul cried in absolute pain from his ankle and felt tears spring to his eyes. The noises from the man was closer than before, Paul had to act now. He quickly spun himself around to face the running infected.

Wincing in pain, he grinded his teeth and grasped the axe's handle. He gave it a good swing, landing the blade in the leg of the man. The man howled, falling to his knees as Paul pulled back the axe. _Thwack_! The blade went into his stomach, but still he didn't die and kept crawling on his belly. Paul pulled back the axe again. _Thwack_! Right into his arm, the infected howled again, but he still wasn't dead. Frustrated tears began to fall as he swung and swung, but he just didn't die. It was then that Paul heard John.

“Paul, go for the head!” John called, moving down the aisle to him. Not waiting for him, Paul pulled the axe up as the man reached out and dug his bloodied fingers into his thigh. He uttered a cry as the axe came down. _Thwack_! Right on his forehead. Paul dug the blade in as deep as he could.

Blood spurted from the gash when the axe was pulled out, splashing Paul's face and clothes. The body fell limp on the floor as John came to Paul's side.

“You've got to get them in the head or heart, luv.” he said quietly. Paul supposed that that was a given since these things were still humans. They foamed at the mouth and tore into flesh like animals, but they were humans nonetheless. “Paul?” Ringo asked, running up to him with George beside him. Paul stared blankly at the corpse, watching the blood seep from the wound. He had never killed someone before. Never in his life did he think he _would_ , but there in front of him was the dead body to prove himself wrong. “Paul?” he tried again.

Paul retched, doubling over and vomited all over the body and floor. He shook violently as bile splattered everywhere; the stench of his stomach secretions mixed with dead flesh assaulted his nose. John swallowed hard and knelt down, rubbing his back.

Attempting to control his trembling body, Paul tightly hugged his torso, not caring about the vomit that got on his blazer. He gave a final heave before calming himself down.

“You alright now?” John asked gently. Paul lightly nodded his head, still holding a blank look. “C'mon then.” John put Paul's arm around his shoulders while wrapping one of his own arms around Paul to hold him steady. He lifted him up and helped him hobble to the car while George and Ringo picked up the water bottles.

 

\---

Brian saw as John lead a hopping Paul to the car and helped him into the backseat. A small cry of pain and discomfort could be heard from Paul, the sound faded quickly. He was about to ask where George and Ringo were, but stopped himself when he noticed them come out with the water bottles in their arms.

The waters were loaded in with the rest of the supplies. George then took his seat up front, with Ringo sitting next to John who had an arm wrapped around their bassist's unmoving form. They all found it unsettling to see that Paul didn't even wear an expression of discomfort from his leg or the blood on his face. He just sat there with nothing at all.

The smell of vomit filled the car, causing the other men to wretch and recoil. Brian looked back and noticed that it was because of Paul's blazer. Paul still kept the dirty, disgusting jacket on despite the smell. It was clear though that Paul was much more concerned with other things than to even realized it was him that smelled that horrid. John took notice of this as well and tapped his friend. Paul barely gave a reaction, only his empty eyes moving to meet John's.

“Maybe we should dump that jacket eh, Macca?” John asked in a gentle tone. Paul quietly shrugged it off and opened the car door. Before dropping the article of clothing, a clean spot was used to wipe the blood that still resided on Paul's face.

He dropped the blazer, then leaned back onto his friend, allowing him to put his arm around him again. Paul still wore the same blank expression, eyes down at his feet.

Brian coughed awkwardly. “Everyone ready?” Brian asked. “It's getting fairly late so I'm going to find a place we can stay the night on the way.” The boys agreed as the car began to move down the road.


	6. Chapter 6

“Now,” Brian started, “all we need is a nice place that we could rest at.” He peered down the road ahead to try spotting something.

George turned to Paul, who had just closed his eyes and leaned against John. He then looked to Ringo with a look of concern for his bandmate. Obviously, Paul was affected by what he just did in that store, and George could understand what Paul was feeling. They all could. It's not easy to go from the high life of a rocker to fighting for your life. George raised his eyebrows, silently asking what he should do, Ringo only shrugged.

Paul breathed in John's scent in an attempt to calm his mind. He distracted himself with the warmth of John's body, hoping to rid the images of blood spurting from that infected's forehead. An arm fell around Paul, it was protective and safe. Paul leaned in closer to John, not caring what the others thought at that moment.

“We could stay at one of these flats.” George pointed out. Brian however, was a bit apprehensive about stopping there. He didn't want a repeat of what just happened, but he knew that they could not just sleep in the car. The five would be even more exposed than if they were in a flat.

“We could search it thoroughly before resting. Make sure nothin' is hiding behind couches or anything.” Ringo added on. Brian pondered the idea, and stopped the car in front of one of the abandoned flats.

He ushered the boys out as he inspected the area around them. Nothing in sight, completely empty, completely alone. John lightly shook Paul, gaining his attention.

“Want me to help you out?” Paul nodded, his arm swinging around John's shoulders as he was lifted out of the car.

“Thanks.” he responded, holding onto John tightly to balance on his one good leg. John only gave a hum and nod, helping Paul hobble to the flat.

Ringo and George were the first inside, to have a look around. Scrutinizing every corner, they made sure that nothing was hiding.

The drummer walked through the upstairs, there were only two rooms. He checked the first, a white room with a queen sized bed in the middle and a small drawer next to it.. It could be assumed that it was some sort of guest room. It all appeared untouched and left alone. He tip toed inside just in case anything was hiding. Slowly, he opened the closet door. Empty, save for a pair of shoes and some hangers.

Suddenly there was a creak coming from under the bed. Ringo froze before creeping up to the bed. His knuckles were white from gripping the handle of his weapon. He crouched down and lifted the bed skirt.

He jumped when a brown mouse came darting from under. Ringo fell back on his bum in a moment of surprise. He watched the creature scurry under the drawer. A chuckle left his mouth. It had been a long time since he felt so relieved and grateful to see a mouse.

Ringo then moved into the other room, weapon held tight in his grip. His eyes peered around. It was a simple little room with a few pieces of art hanging on the bright yellow walls. The pictures were portraits of smiling men and women all in different scenarios. One was of a man and woman at the beach, then one sitting in a diner, then another at a small fair. Each held a happy feeling which clashed with everything happening around the boys. It made Ringo shudder to see such a joyful looking room and then what he saw next.

On the bed, was an older man, couldn't have been older than fifty years. His eyes were still open and he held a surprised expression. Ringo figured he most likely died of a heart attack. He recoiled at the sight of flies flying in and out of his mouth.

Grabbing the stiff body, Ringo looked to see if he had any bites. None that he could see. He couldn't take a risk, though. Not after last time.

He raised his weapon and brought it down onto his head. The hatchet came down a few times before he felt it was enough. Darkened blood splashed his clothes. Ringo gagged when he tasted some that flew into his mouth. It was only a little bit, but its coppery taste was enough to cause bile to rise. He quickly swallowed when he heard footsteps.

“Rings?” George called, walking into the room and stopping at the doorway. He looked at the body then to Ringo, who still held the hatchet tightly. “All clear in here?” he asked, trying to be casual. The drummer nodded, not looking at the body again.

“You find anything?” George shook his head. Ringo gave a silent nod, quickly leaving the room to get away from the festering body. George made sure to close the door.

Ringo gave a silent approval to Brian that everything was alright. Brian stepped aside to allow John and Paul through first. Paul held as tight as he could to John, trying his hardest to hop on one foot without losing his balance.

John gently sat him down on the couch inside.

“How long ye think it'll be before Paul can walk?” John asked, rolling Paul's pant leg up. There was only a bit of swelling, but it didn't seem too serious.

“Not too long, he just needs to rest it.” Brian answered. Brian moved to Paul and gently took a hold of his leg. “He should have his foot elevated too. We can put a couple pillows on the arm of the couch.” John nodded, grabbing the decorative pillows on the other side of the couch and placed them on the arm. Brian carefully moved Paul's foot onto the pillows.

“Shit!” Paul cried, but was silenced by John's hand.

“Quiet, Macca, yer gonna bring a whole group over.” John said half kidding, but half urgent.

“Sorry. “ Paul answered as his foot was lowered. “Thanks.” John hummed as a response.

“I'll see if there's any ice.” said John, walking into the small kitchen. Paul looked to the other three men now gathered around him.

“You gonna be okay?” Ringo asked.

“Yeah, could've been worse I suppose. “ Paul answered. Ringo smiled, leave it to Paul to be so optimistic.

John returned shortly with a large amount of ice wrapped inside of napkins.

“These people must have loved their cool drinks. Got a whole freezer filled with ice.” John commented, bringing the ice to Brian.

Taking the ice, he applied pressure to Paul's ankle. Paul jumped a little, but bit his lip to keep from shouting. John ran to Paul's side and stroked his hair soothingly.

“You'll be fine, Paulie.” John said. Brian used one hand to undo and take his tie off. They watched as he began to tie the fabric around the ice.

“We just need to keep this here.” Brian told them, tying it tightly to hold the ice in place.

“There.” Brian stood up. He noticed the boys’ tired faces and even gave a yawn himself.

“We should all get some sleep.” Ringo said. “There's a bed upstairs next to the room with the closed door.” John shook his head.

“I'm stayin' down here with Paul.”

“You'll be sleeping on the floor, Johnny.” Paul said.

“I've slept in worse places.” Paul gave an appreciative smile.

“Fine have it your way.” Paul gave John a light pat on his arm as John settled on the floor beside him.

“Someone needs to watch for infected.” added George.

“We can take shifts.” Ringo replied. “I'll take the first.”

“Are you sure? I could take the first.” Brian told Ringo. He only shook his head.

“I'll be fine.” he stated firmly.

“Alright, I'll take the next then. Come get me when it's my turn.” Brian told him. Ringo agreed, watching him go up the steps as John fell asleep on the floor next to Paul's couch.

 

The room was dark and quiet where Ringo sat. Only the sound of Paul and John's combined soft snores could be heard. Ringo stared at the door, unmoving. He could feel his eyes droop every so often, but he would catch himself before drifting off.

A couple quiet footsteps could be heard behind him. He jumped and quickly spun around to see it was only George. The drummer took a deep breath.

“You almost gave me a heart attack.” Ringo said, exhaling. He tilted his head and squinted, noticing the tired yet despaired look in George's face.

“Why are you up?” Ringo whispered with a deeply concerned tone. “It won't be your shift for a while.”

George silently shrugged, taking a seat next to Ringo.

“Couldn't sleep.” said the youngest member. It was then that he remembered George sleeping in the car earlier.

“Bad dream?” George brought his knees up to his chest and shook his head.

“Not a dream, a nightmare.” The way George spoke, it reminded Ringo of a small child coming into his parent's bedroom in the middle of the night.

“What was it?” George's head shook again.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Why?” Ringo's concern grew. “Please, Geo, tell me. What happened?” he pressed on. Ringo had to know, he couldn't stand seeing George like this and not knowing what was going on inside. George kept his mouth shut, holding himself tighter. He buried his head in his knees, taking a gulp of air.

Ringo squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

“You can talk to me, Georgie.” George only uttered a shuddering breath. He brought his face to Ringo's and finally spoke.

“I saw Pattie.” he simply stated. The older bandmate felt his stomach drop at the name, it was already a bad sign. “She was just standin' there in our flat, smilin' at me.” George bit his bottom lip, clearly showing pain with every word. “She 'ad a hole right through her forehead.” George placed a finger in the middle of his forehead, then curled his fingers into a fist, moving his hand to do a ripping motion. “Stuck her fingers right through and ripped open the hole. She still had that smile, Ritch. That same beautiful smile as she ripped open her forehead.” George's words were becoming strained as tears formed in his eyes.

“George…”

“Then she spoke.” Hot tears fell from his eyes. It sounded impossible for George to continue, but he did. “’You did this, George.' She said. You did this, George. You did this, George. You did this, George. You did this, GEORGE!” The guitarist chanted, face contorted and his cracked voice growing louder and louder. Ringo panicked and attempted to calm his mate down.

“George, be quiet Paul and John are sleepin'!”

“YOU DID THIS, GEORGE! YOU DID THIS, GEORGE.” George brought a fist to his head, smashing it against his head. “YOU DID THIS, GEORGE!” he screamed, hitting himself again and again. “YOU DID THIS, GEORGE!”

“That's ENOUGH!” Ringo grabbed George's wrist, holding it tight. The drummer peered to the couch, seeing that Paul and John were still asleep. His eyes moved to George.

“I did it, I killed her.” he quietly sobbed. “I did it, Ritchie…” Ringo pulled George into an embrace.

“You had to George. She was gonna change.” he murmured as George cried into his shoulder. Ringo soothingly rubbed his back. “You had to do it for her.” George whimpered against him.

When he felt George loosen his grip on him, Ringo moved to help George stand.

“Try to get some sleep.” Ringo begged.

“Every time I do, it's the same dream.” A pang of sadness rang throughout Ringo. Poor George didn't deserve this. Ringo looked at his watch.

“My shift's about to end.” he informed. “I could sleep with you if that'll help.” George nodded, feeling disgusted that he seemed like such a child, but at the same time couldn't care.

Ringo led George upstairs to the bedroom, hushing him the whole way. Brian was already outside of the room, ready to start. They traded glances and Brian made his way downstairs.

The two lied in the bed, face to face. Ringo brought his arms around George, pulling him close and trying his best to lull him to sleep. After a few minutes of comforting the younger band member, he could finally feel George breathe steadily and stop fidgeting. Ringo soon followed George's journey to slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is kinda filler and I'm not really sure how I feel towards this chapter. So please let me know what you think!

Brian slumped in the chair next to Paul and John and watched the dark sky outside the window, allowing a yawn to escape his lips. He couldn't remember what time it was, but knew he should have gotten George a bit ago. He kept himself from that, knowing that George has not slept this well ever since the incident with Pattie. It was good for him to finally get some sleep. Brian wanted to make sure his boys were in the best shape possible to face whatever else would come flying at them.

Brian propped his feet on the coffee table nearby, trying not to tip over what he could only guess was a glass of melted ice for Paul to drink. He gave another yawn of boredom, his eyes shifting from the window to the sleeping boys next to him. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of John asleep on the floor beside Paul's sleeping form. He was on his knees with his head resting on Paul's stomach, and his hand holding Paul's arm. Any hint of John's tough exterior was melted away, leaving something more along the lines of a puppy sleeping with its master. Brian could actually call it adorable.

Then, as if Brian's gaze became alive and tapped the sleeping boy, John awoke. He squinted and rubbed his tired eyes. He tried to get his eyes to adjust, but still was unable to see without his contacts. John whispered, trying to figure out who was there. Brian tried to keep his voice low and assured John that it was only him. John nodded and sat up, pushing back the hair in his face.

“Go back to sleep, John, I've got this.” Brian assured him.

“And let you 'ave all the fun?” John said, slowly standing to try and make his way over to Brian.

“You need rest.” Brian said, attempting to push John back down, only to be met with resistance.

“And you don't?” John pushed Brian away. “I don't want you to be tired and struggling to keep awake.”

“And just what do you expect us to do when you pass out while another one of those things come after us?” John asked. “We may be The Beatles, but we're hopeless without ye.” John said half joking. Brian smiled at John's comment, he loved the thought of feeling needed by his boys. Still, Brian shook his head in defiance.

“Besides,” John began, “Paul's ice needs to be changed.” said John, indicating the mostly melted ice on Paul's ankle. John reached around, and it wasn't until Brian noticed what was actually in the glass on the coffee table besides water, that he realized John kept his contacts in there.

“Here.” Brian went to grab the glass and hand it to John. John gave a hum and took the contacts out, putting them on with a few blinks.

“Thanks.” John wiped under his eye.

John made his way to Paul, trying to untie the tie wrapped around Paul with a few annoyed grunts.

“Can ye help me, Eppy? Fuckin’ tied this knot like a champ.” Brian hid a chuckle as he untied the knot. “See? This is the kind of shit that shows how much we need ye.” John laughed, walking off to get more ice.

John quickly returned with more ice and had Brian help tie it back on Paul's healing ankle.

“Can't even replace ice without ye.” The two shared a laugh as John then turned serious. John looked up and made eye contact with his manager, void of all playfulness. “Get some rest, Eppy. Please.” Brian was a bit surprised with how John was acting. He never got to see him like this before. Unable to say no, Brian gave in and made his way upstairs.

When he was up the stairs, Brian reached into his pocket and held two of his sleeping pills. He wished he had that glass of melted ice to take them with, but knew he would just have to swallow them dry. He didn’t want John to see him with his pills or get suspicious.

Placing the pills in his mouth, Brian clenched his fists and swallowed, not giving too much attention to where he was walking. He bumped into the closed door, realizing that it was the wrong room. Curiosity seemed to overtake Brian and he went to turn the handle and pull the door open.

He walked in, immediately covering his nose due to the putrid stench of dead flesh. Brian gazed at the man dead in his bed, now understanding why the door was kept shut. His eyes wandered up and down the limp body, past the dried blood and open slash wounds. As he looked, he didn't feel a sense of nausea nor sympathy towards the dead man. He instead felt an chill move down his spine and an eerie feeling of his own mortality. The thought that that man could be anyone, including himself. For a moment, Brian thought he saw his own face on the rotting corpse. Brian quickly turned away and stumbled out of the room, making sure that the door behind him was fully locked. His legs wobbled as he hurried to the bedroom where Ringo and George were fast asleep.

 

John gave a sigh, watching Brian leave to go upstairs. He knew how much Brian cared for them and their safety, but it got to a point where he wasn't worried about himself. Brian seemed to barely think about his own health, and that secretly scared John. He wasn't kidding when he said they'd be lost without Brian. They really would be. Eventually, they would solve their problems without Brian if it came to that, but it would all be much harder. Brian was a guide, he handled everything, he took the burdens, and John knew that's what will kill him. Then once Brian is dead, what would be next? What would that mean for John, for his bandmates? John shook his head rapidly, he didn't want to think about it anymore.

John noticed that the morning was slowly creeping up on them. The rising sun hit John's face with its early morning light. John gave a small groan, covering his eyes.

“Hey.” a groggy voice said near him. John turned to see Paul with one tired eye open and half of a smile.

“Hey.” John answered, moving closer to Paul.

“Morning already?” Paul yawned sleepily. John nodded, asking how Paul's ankle felt. Paul shrugged and said it was feeling much better than yesterday. John was glad to hear that and smiled slightly.

“Anyone else up yet?” Paul asked, John shook his head and crouched by the couch.

“Nope, just us.” The two quietly stared at each other for quite sometime before Paul spoke.

“I thought I heard something last night.” John noticed how odd Paul sounded when he said that.

“Me and Eppy talked a little.” Paul shook his head, that wasn't it.

“Thought I heard George.” John raised an eyebrow, he was certain that Brian decided to not wake him for his shift. “It...it sounded like he was yelling. I'm not too sure if I was just imagining it or not, but it sounded like screaming and crying.” Paul said, voice thick with concern. John gave Paul a confused look. He didn't remember hearing any of that, and assumed that Paul probably was just hearing things in his half asleep state.

“You must've been dreaming, Macca. The only ones who I'm sure took shifts were Me, Ringo and Eppy.” Paul shrugged, unsure of what to say. It sounded so real to him, but the mind fools you like that. Paul reasoned to himself, hoping that that was the explanation.

Paul watched the outside, transfixed by the sky. Patches of grey clouds began to show, covering most of it. John turned to look at the sky, and couldn't help but think of splotches of paint on a blank canvas.

“Wonder if it'll rain today.” John casually commented, eyes on the sky still.

“Seems like it everyday.” Paul said in a somber tone. John felt a twinge of heartache at the sound of Paul’s dejected voice. He lowered his head on Paul's stomach, lightly stoking his arm. Neither of them said another word.


	8. Chapter 8

Ringo’s eyes slowly opened to see George in his arms. He knew not a lot of time had passed since they first fell asleep, but something kept him awake. Once he was sure his bandmate was deeply asleep, Ringo released George from his hold, allowing him to lay on his back. Ringo moved beside George and watched as he slept peacefully, his chest steadily rising and falling with only the softest snore. He knew he should be sleeping by now, it wasn't his shift anymore and it would be a shame to waste his only time to rest. He didn't want to fall asleep, though. Ringo just wanted to make sure George was alright. That whole scene from just a short time ago was enough to shake Ringo. Seeing his friend break and hurt himself was too much. And then the fact that he blamed _himself_ for what happened to Pattie. Ringo wanted to just shake George and yell that none of it was his fault, but he knew that wouldn't help. It may just make George feel worse.

Ringo was pulled out of these thoughts by a small whimper. He saw as George's breathing began to become less steady and his face scrunch up. His body twitched and slightly squirmed in his dream state as he whimpered again. Ringo quickly laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

“George!” he whispered. George's eyelids flew open and his head snapped to the side to look at the drummer. His eyes were puffy and practically bulging out of his skull. George gripped the covers with shaking hands, fear dripped from him.

“I had it again, Ritch.” he said. Ringo pulled the young guitarist close back into the embrace he had him in before. The only things he could say were small hushes and coos, along with the occasional sorry. George just buried his face into Ringo's chest, not responding.

Ringo's eyes were fixated on the younger man in his arms. He realized right then and there just how protective he felt over George. How much he felt the urge to protect him from harm. Now, George would most likely shake his head and argue that he could protect himself if someone ever said that. But this was different. It was the same feeling of protectiveness John had for Paul. Not that John wouldn't try to protect any of the others, same went for Ringo. Of course he cared for his bandmates, they were like his brothers, but George was different. There was something more that came with George, even if Ringo didn't exactly know what. There just was.

“Do you want to try sleeping again?” Ringo asked.

“Only if we stay like this.” The drummer agreed, holding George as tight as possible without hurting him. He felt a small smile form as George nuzzled into his chest. This apocalypse was making him soft, Ringo thought. George's face was no longer pressed into Ringo. Ringo curiously moved his eyes to see George now watching him.

“You okay…?” George didn't speak, he only pressed his lips against Ringo's. The drummer made a surprised noise at the sudden gesture. In surprise and panic, Ringo broke the kiss. He took a couple breaths and stared with his eyebrows fully raised. George shifted uncomfortably, that was a mistake.

“Sorry.” George mumbled.

“George, what was that?”

George shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?? You kissed me!” George knew it was a bad idea. He just needed some sort loving interaction. Never in his life did he expect it from a bloke or his own bandmate, but this was such a dark time. He needed something. George shook his head.

“It was nothing, Ritch. Let's just go back to sleep.” he said, his nose buried in the crook of Ringo's neck. Not wanting to argue right now, Ringo allowed him and urged himself to fall asleep.

 

Ringo awoke again to a warmth pressed against his back. He strained to notice that it was Brian's sleeping form. The morning slight poured into the room, illuminating his body.

Ringo moved a bit and felt George shift in his arms. The memory from last night replayed in his head. So many questions filled him. Why had George done that? Was George queer and fancied him? More importantly, why did he feel different than he normally should from that? Why wasn't he disgusted? Why did he have a small thought at the back of his head that wanted George to do it again? Ringo purged these questions, reasoning it was the pressure making them like this.

“George, you up?” he asked in a hushed tone. George hummed.

“Yeah.”

“Did you sleep alright?”

“I didn't have the dream again.” Ringo took that as a yes and smiled. “Ringo, about last night…” George started, but was stopped.

“It's fine, Geo, it was nothing. You were tired and upset. I understand you didn't mean to.” He assured George. George nodded, bit didn't seem all too relieved. Ringo thought George even seemed disappointed at his reaction. Ringo unattached himself from George and sat up.

“How about we go downstairs and get something to eat?” George nodded in agreement.

“Should we wake Brian up?”

“Nah, let 'im sleep in a little. I mean, he did take two shifts and all.”

George followed Ringo down the stairway to where John and Paul were.

“Ah! Our king and queen have finally blessed us with their presence!” John bowed.

“Piss off, John we just got up.” George retorted. 

"Oh, has your highness not gotten her proper beauty sleep? It certainly shows.” John chided. Ringo felt a spike of annoyance towards John and his jab at John.

Paul noticed this and tapped John. “John, stop.” Paul said.

“Georgie's a big boy, Paul. He can handle it.”

“What have we got to eat?” George asked. John pointed to the small pile of food and water. George grabbed a small pack of crackers and a water, quickly beginning to down both.

“Better get something fast, Ritchie. The way George is going it'll be gone in ten minutes.” John teased. Ringo grinned and grabbed some crackers and water too.

“How's your leg?” George asked, crumbs flying from his mouth.

“Better.” Paul said. “The swelling's gone down, and it doesn't hurt as much anymore.”

“He should be able to stand and walk a little, but not run or jump or anythin’.” John added. George hummed and continued to eat.

“You think there's any running water here?” Paul asked. “I wouldn't mind a bath right now.”

“I'll say. I've had to smell ye all night.” John playfully crinkled his nose as Paul stuck his tongue out at him.

“You love my smell.”

“You're right, Macca, I just adore the smell of sweat and vomit.” Paul playfully smacked John, his face a touch pink. Ringo awkwardly cleared his throat and looked to George who didn't pay them any attention.

“Have you checked to see if there was running water?” Ringo asked John. John told him he didn't.

“You didn't even bother to check?” George asked.

“No, Geo I was a bit preoccupied.”

“With sleeping on the floor?”

“With keeping watch over the flat and Paul!” Paul felt slightly guilty at that.

“You didn't have to watch me, John. I'm old enough to watch myself.”

“Well, Paul can ye also change yer ice by yerself?” John asked in a mocking tone. Paul didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer.

“Calm down, John.” Ringo said. “No one's attacking you. I'll try turning on a faucet and see myself.” The drummer stepped out into the kitchen. The three listened as the faint sound of dripping water filled their ears.

“Thank God.” Paul laughed. “I don't think I can go another day feeling this dirty.”

“Sissy.” John chuckled, receiving another light slap. George told Paul that there was a bathroom upstairs if he wanted a bath.

“Yeah, yeah, help me up.” John helped Paul onto his feet, slinging his arm around his neck. Paul winced, but was actually able to walk with a small limp. John didn't want to risk Paul falling down the stairs, so he helped him anyway.

 

The bathroom was so tiny, the two boys felt squashed even. Paul moved away from John, thanking him as he began to unbutton his shirt. John turned on the water and watched, feeling something stir inside him. A feeling that John locked away and kept at bay since he met Paul. Lust? Perhaps. Love? Definitely. Now with Paul, naked in front of him, that feeling was stronger than ever.

Paul noticed John staring, suddenly feeling shy and self conscious. He tried to hide his reddened face as he stepped into the water. John crouched beside the tub.

“Want help with washing?” Paul's ears perked. “Y'know with your back?”

“Erm, sure.” Paul hesitantly handed John a sponge. John slowly rubbed circles on Paul's back, enjoying the shine of Paul's wet skin. As John did that, Paul cupped some water and let it fall on his hair, allowing stray droplets to streak down his face. His head fell back, humming at the feeling of the sponge. John bit his bottom lip at the sight. He wasn't sure if Paul was this much of a tease or stupidly oblivious.

Paul craned his neck to John. The older guitarist gulped at the sight of Paul and his dripping wet hair sticking to his face.

“You alright, Johnny?”

“Uh, er-yeah I'm fine.”

“You sure? You seem off.”

“Don't be daft, it's just the steam hitting me in the face.” Paul shrugged, returning to wash the rest of his body.

John dropped the sponge in the water when he heard a shout from downstairs. It had been Ringo.

“Guys, hurry! Come see what I've found!” Paul quickly turned to John.

“What do you suppose it is?” his voice sounded slightly panicked.

“I dunno. Hurry and get dressed, we'll go see.” John helped Paul out and handed him his clothes. Once Paul was fully dressed, the two hurried downstairs to find out what was going on.


	9. Chapter 9

“What's happened?!” John called out as the two made their way to the kitchen. George was standing there with Ringo, huge grins spread across their face. John raised an eyebrow, unsure of what they were so happy about.

“What'd you find?” Paul asked. George excitedly presented the small plastic bag filled with what could only be guessed as marijuana, rolling paper and matches.

“Is that fuckin' weed?” a smile began to form on John's face.

George gave a nod and opened the bag. “Ritchie found it hidden under the sink!” George said with the excitement of a small child.

“Sneaky bastards.” Paul commented.

“Well what are we waiting for then? Come on!” John said, leading the three back into the living room. The four musicians sat close in a small circle, each rolling their own blunt.

Paul grabbed a match and was about to light it, but suddenly stopped. “Do you think this is a good idea?” he asked with doubt creeping up on him. “I mean, won't Eppy be pissed about this and all?”

“We'll save him some.” John said.

“But he'll be mad when he sees us fumbling about.”

“Well, I don't know about you, Macca, but I'm fucking exhausted and need some kind of relaxation. So fuck it if he's mad.” John replied, irritation lacing his voice. He grabbed a match and swiped it, creating a small flame. “Ain't I right?” he asked George and Ringo. The two boys, now having second thoughts, shrugged.

“Maybe Paul's right.” Ringo mumbled. John wasn't listening and already lit up his joint. He then raised the match to Ringo's.

“We all need this right now and you know it. Everyone's wound up and this'll help.” Ringo looked to Paul, then George, who's eyes still showed signs of puffiness. Ringo finally took a drag. He figured John was right, he wanted some distraction from all of this. George took the match and held it to his own blunt, inhaling for as long as he could.

Paul watched his three friends begin to get high and quickly took the match from John.

“Oh, is goody goody McCartney gonna have a puff?”

“Shut it.”

 

“So what I'm sayin',” Paul took a drag. “the meaning of life, right?” he blew a ring of smoke from his lips. John snorted, tossing an empty bag of crisps onto the floor with the many other emptied bags.

“What about it?”

“I've figured it out!” Paul said, eating a small handful of crisps from one of the bags.

“What is it?” George asked.

“Okay so I've come to the conclusion, “ the three other men giggled. “there are seven layers.”

John laughed loudly. “Seven?”

“Yes, seven!”

“And just what are the layers?” John stuffed a cracker in his mouth. Paul, spaced out and watching the clouds outside, didn't answer right away.

“Layers?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, what are they?” Ringo piped up.

“What are what?” Paul tilted his head.

“The layers!” John shouted.

“Right, right.” Paul thought for a moment. “Shit, I can't remember. Should've written it down.” Paul giggled uncontrollably, leaning on John. He pushed a crisp between John's lips. John happily took it, his hand over Paul's to help guide the crisp to his mouth.

“Git.” George giggled.

“Sod off, I'd like to hear your idea.” Paul shot.

“Idea for what?” Ringo asked.

“Boys, what are you doing down here?” Brian's voice rang out. The four jumped and turned to the staircase.

“Shit, shit, Brian's gonna be so pissed off!” Paul bit his lip.

“I know, we didn't even save him a morsel.” John shook the emptied bag.

“Just WHAT are you doing?!” Brian stood in front of them, his arms crossed and foot tapping. The boys looked at each other, not knowing how to answer. “Well?!” Brian asked, impatiently.

“We were just having a little fun, Bri.” John answered slowly. Brian didn't give anyone else enough time to answer, snatching their joints and crushing them under his shoe. The boys groaned.

“What the hell, Eppy?? We tried to save you some!” John argued with a small chuckle. Brian looked as though he were about to explode. He held a furious expression and a reddened face.

“Quiet, John! I am incredibly disappointed and angry with you boys!”

“Bri-“ George began.

“No! You should know better! For Christ's sake, it's an APOCALYPSE and you four think it's a perfect time to SMOKE! UNBELIEVABLE!!” Brian screamed, causing the boys to recoil.

“Brian, we're sorry!” Ringo said. “We were just stressed out and needed something to help!” Brian seemed to barely care what the drummer had to say as an excuse, he continued to rant.

“I'm stressed as well, Richard, but you don't see me putting myself in such a vulnerable state! What if an infected individual got in while you were doing this?! What if one of you got infected?!” the boys shifted, looking to the floor.

“I'll NEVER allow ANYTHING to happen to you boys, but you need to meet me halfway and have some common sense!” Brian sighed, rubbing his temples.

His eyes shifted from the boys on the floor to the pile of food. Brian noticed that it was much smaller than it was yesterday. He felt his anger and frustration spike to a whole new level.

“What happened to the food?!” Brian peered back at the boys and took notice of the scattered bags of snacks. “WHAT HAVE YOU BOYS DONE?!”

“We got a bit peckish.” John said as the three bandmates held back snickers.

“YOU'VE WASTED OVER HALF OF OUR SUPPLIES!” Brian screamed, feeling tears of frustration spring to his eyes.

John eventually found his footing and made his way to their hysterical manager. He put his hands on Brian's shoulders and attempted to calm him down.

“Eppy, don't get yer knickers in a twist, it'll be fine! We can get more!”

“WHERE, John? WHERE do you expect to find more?”

John didn't have an answer and shrugged. “I dunno, but these things work out, Eppy, we'll be fine.” Brian violently shook his head, his fingers buried inside of his frayed hair.

“Things don't always WORK OUT! You've got to MAKE them work out, but you haven't been doing that! You're just getting high like this is a damn game!”

Paul lowered his head in shame, pulling his legs to his chest. It was never a fun time when their manager went through one of his outbursts. Usually they could laugh about it later, but not this time. It was understandable for Brian to be like that right now. It was the end of the world and Brian was as stressed as possible, but he couldn't even let it show. He had to remain strong and in charge, weakness was not an option. Then to top it all off, he had four boys who can barely handle themselves or bother to be serious that he had to take care of.

“We're sorry, Brian! You're right, we'll be me serious!” George called, the others nodded along.

“Yeah, w-we’re sorry, Bri!” Paul added.

Brian sighed heavily again, wiping his eyes. “It's okay, I'm sorry for yelling.” Brian apologized, pushing his hair back.

“Don't be, we need a bit of whipping into shape sometimes.” John smiled. Brian chuckled a little, feeling himself ease up. If there was anyone who was able to make Brian as furious as possible, yet also put him in a lighter mood, it was John.

“Maybe there's more food in the cupboard?” George asked, hope in his voice. Ringo shook his head.

“Completely cleaned out.”

“It's fine.” said Paul. “We still have some food left. We just need to cut down and save.”

“But what about when it runs out?” John asked. Paul couldn't conjure up an answer, hugging his knees tighter.

“I don't know about you, but I don't want to have to resort to eating Ringo.”

Ringo laughed. “Why me?”

“You've got that nose, son. That alone will last us a few days.” John said, tapping the tip of his own nose.

“Boys, no one will have to eat anyone. We'll find more food when that time comes. It will all…” Brian lovingly smiled to John. “…work out. Right, John?” John flashed a trademarked Lennon smile back, agreeing.

Brian's little pep talk was suddenly interrupted by a rapping at the door. The sound of a heavy knocking invaded their once calm atmosphere. The five looked at each other, hoping for an answer from one of them. Brian urged his boys to stay where they were as he stepped closer to the door.

He gripped the door knob tightly as he spoke. “Who's there?”

“PLEASE open up! I need to get in!!” a panicked and strained voice responded.

“Who are you?”

“I-I'm Constable Smith, I was sent to aid in this pandemic and it went horribly wrong! Please, my whole squad is dead, I had to KILL my partner! I need to get IN!”

“Have you been bitten?” Brian leaned more of his weight into the door.

“No-no I haven't I swear! Just please let me in!!” he cried. Brian could feel the man pushing on the other side.

“Yer not gonna just believe him are ye?!” John argued.

“John, the poor bloke sounds scared shitless.” Paul interjected.

“And?! He could still be infected and not telling us!”

“What if it were you though? What if it were one of us at the other side of that door? What if it were Cynthia and Julian?” John's features softened, he didn't want to think about what happened to Cynthia and Julian. He didn't know exactly, but he had the sinking feeling that they were somewhere on the streets. Hell, maybe Cynthia was doing the same thing this man was doing.

John looked to Brian, who still had his weight against the door. “Let 'im in, Bri.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Are you sure, John?” Brian asked, unmoving.

“Am I speaking French?! Let the poor bastard in!” Brian moved to open the door.

The man pressed against the door fell to the floor. He panted erratically, breathing out thank yous over and over again. The five circled the heavily breathing constable. The man was portly with short, dark hair and wore a typical uniform with small rips in certain areas.

Constable Smith looked above at his saviors that now gathered around him. His eyes went wide when he realized who they were. He scrambled to his feet with a look of complete surprise.

“Are you The Beatles?” the boys nodded. Smith quickly shook each of their hands. “This is such an honor! I'm a huge fan, I've got all your records at my flat!”

“Cheers. Always glad to meet a fan.” Paul said with one of his phony smiles as his hand was shook violently.

“Show us your arms and neck.” John commanded abruptly, eyeing him up. “That’s where they seem to bite the most.” The constable obliged, rolling up his sleeves and unbuttoning his collar. John examined closely only to see that he had been telling the truth. John put the others at ease and told them that the stranger was fine.

“I can’t thank you all enough!” Constable Smith cried, gripping John’s hand tightly.

“Sure, sure, mate, we understand we’re such good saints.” John said, pulling his hand free.

Brian gestured to the chair next to the couch “How about you take a seat? You seem exhausted.” The constable smiled and took a spot on the chair.

He watched Brian curiously. “And who are you? Their chaperone?”

“No, but I may as well be.” Brian laughed. “I'm their manager.”

Smith snapped his fingers. “Right! You’re that Epstein bloke!” Brian nodded. The constable, still in awe, shook his head and leaned back in the seat.

“I just can’t believe the lot of you survived! I mean, I’m not sayin’ you can’t take care of yourselves or anything. I just can’t believe it.” Smith grinned at the boys and their manager, who seemed to take slight offense. “But who am I kiddin’? Someone’s gonna have to stay alive to keep the world filled with music once this whole thing’s blown over!”

“Right.” Paul awkwardly answered with another faked smile. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at his friends.

“What happened to you anyway, mister?” John curiously questioned. “You said something went terribly wrong and you had to kill your partner?”

The man nodded. “That's right. My squad was sent to aid in helping evacuate the city when this disease began to spread. Everything went well until this huge horde of them came charging at us. Now I didn’t have a gun or anything, and neither did my partner, but the one leading us did. He tried fighting them off, and others tried to fight too. However, there were just so many. I knew I had to think fast, so I charged through to the officer leading us. He was lying there, a shaking mess with foam forming at his mouth. So, I quickly grabbed his gun and any extra bullets, and took off.”

“What about your partner? Killed him didn’t ye?” John asked.

“Yep. Poor bloke was on the ground grabbing at my pant leg, begging me to take him with me.”

“So ye just killed ‘im?”

“I had to.” The officer said, becoming annoyed. “I could see he was in the early stages of becoming one of those freaks! I didn’t just decide to kill him for some sick fun if that’s what you’re thinking!”

Brian attempted to calm him down. “Now, now, no one here thinks that! John just gets like that with his questions. Right, John?” John shrugged.

“I'm just trying to understand why you’d be so quick to abandon your squad and kill your partner. Seems a bit cowardly.” Brian shot a glare, silently telling him to shut his mouth. Paul went to grab John in hopes of getting him to stop talking, but jumped back when the constable practically exploded.

“Cowardly?!” the constable roared. “Infected were everywhere! Sometimes you’ve got to think about yourself!” it was then that Constable Smith moved a certain way to subtly display the gun attached him. Brian’s eyes widened at the sight and instinctively stood in front of the boys.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Brian said, elbowing John. “You did what you had to do. Just relax now.” Smith smirked at John and relaxed in the chair.

John snarled, he already couldn’t stand the officer. To John, what he did was cowardly. He just left them, as if he somehow mattered more. Then, he just killed his partner and goes off about it like it were so casual. It made him feel sick, and gave him a bit of satisfaction to see how angry Constable Smith got at his comment.

The constable stretched his arms and allowed them to rest behind his head.

“You wouldn't happen to have any food would you?”

“We actually-er- need to save it.” Paul answered the officer.

“It's fine, he can have something.” Brian assured the officer. Paul felt incredibly confused and wanted to ask Brian why he would allow that. It was only then that he noticed where Brian was staring. It was near the man’s pocket where the gun rested. Paul felt a shiver move through him, deciding against speaking up. A bad feeling dwelled inside of him at the sight, he decided to himself that letting the constable in was a terrible idea.

 

Paul slept soundly on the couch until he found a hand roughly shake him awake. A voice, which could only be identified as John’s, called his name. Paul pried his tired eyes open, making eye contact with the man who hovered over him. Paul lifted his head, squinting in the darkness to allow his eyes to adjust.

“Is it my shift?” John assured Paul that it was not his turn to keep look out.

“Then why did you wake me up?” Paul grumbled, letting his head drop back down.

“I don’t trust ‘im.” John whispered.

“Who?”

“The constable.” John answered. “I don’t trust the bastard one bit.” he added, only to be hushed by Paul.

“He's right there, John.” Paul said, indicating the chair in which the constable sat fast asleep. His chubby face rested on his hand as his snores echoed.

John scoffed. “I don’t give a shit. How could he even hear over that fucking snoring?” Paul figured that John was right in a way, but that didn’t mean he wanted to risk it. None of them knew just how unstable the officer was, and frankly Paul didn’t want to find out.

“You don’t know, John. You don’t know everything.” he scolded.

“Yeah, but I do know that this bloke is an untrustworthy prick.” Paul put a finger to his lips.

“Shh!”

“Oh, you know it’s true.” he argued in a quieter tone. “Anyone who just runs off like that to save his own skin can’t be trusted.”

“John, he was frightened, probably never seen what he saw before. Anyone would have reacted the same way.”

“Yes, but he’s an officer, he’s not supposed to turn and run scared. He’s supposed to defend. It’s his _job_ for fuck’s sake.” John retorted, voice growing slightly louder. Paul shushed him urgently again.

“I don’t care, Paul, I don’t like him. It was a mistake letting 'im in.”

“Well, John you told Brian to let him in.” Paul reminded him.

“Only ‘cause you went on this whole speech about why I should. Remember that, Paulie? Oh, but what if it were Cynthia and Julian??” John mocked Paul. Paul cringed at John’s condescending tone, but didn’t argue. He was right, Paul did urge him to tell Brian to let Constable Smith in. Even though Paul wouldn’t actually tell John, he was right.

Paul gave a small sigh. “I don’t trust the guy either.” Paul admitted in the quietest voice possible. “I just don’t want to say anything.”

“Why? There are more of us than him, we could easily throw him out.”

“John, he’s got a gun.”

“So? It’s a five to one ratio, Macca.”

“I just don’t want him to hurt anyone. I don’t want him to hurt you.” John shook his head, he didn't like seeing Paul like this. Scared and unsure, it was not like him at all. John almost wanted to get up and snatch the gun away from the sleeping officer to put Paul’s mind at ease. Though, didn’t want to risk waking him up, unsure of what else Smith might have with him.

Paul shrugged. “And who knows, maybe he’ll turn out to be useful for us?” he said hopefully. John didn’t know how to respond, so he only hummed.

John peered down at his watch, then looked up with a surprised expression.

“Would you look at that.”

“What? What is it?”

“It’s now your shift, Macca.” he grinned.

“You arse, I could’ve been sleeping those last few minutes.” Paul giggled.

“You can sleep when you're dead.” John said, meaning for it to come out a lot more playful, but due to their conversation, made Paul’s smile fade. John wished he could step outside of his body and slap himself for that. He wanted to apologize for that, but before he could, Paul put on a small smile and sat up to start his shift.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small disclaimer: there is a hint of anti semitism from the constable. (He says a couple phrases) I want to make it clear that my views do not match with the people in this story.

An hour or so passed and it was then Brian’s shift. The sun had just begin to rise, but it was for nothing since it was covered by grey clouds. Brian kept himself close to his weapon. Ever since the constable arrived, he wanted to make sure he had something to defend himself with. He wished the boys would also do just that, but it seemed that they wanted nothing to do with their weapons unless an infected was near.

John stirred next to him on the couch, unaware to the world around him. Paul had gone upstairs to rest on the bed with George and Ringo. Of course, John, still worried for Paul, woke up and gave him some help going up the stairs. Brian noted that he seemed fairly excited to finally sleep in a real bed again.

Brian kept focus on his surroundings, not noticing the now awake constable move towards him and tap him. Brian jumped and reflexively moved back, grasping at the weapon he kept close to him. Constable Smith threw his hands up.

“Calm the hell down, it’s just me.” Brian relaxed and took his hand away from the weapon.

“You're up early.” Brian commented. The constable nodded, telling Brian that he was always used to waking up early for his job. The manager kept his eyes on Constable Smith, eyeing him up for any odd movements. Brian would love nothing more than to not be on edge around the stranger, to actually relax, but how could he? He couldn’t, not if it meant putting his life and his boys’ lives in danger. But maybe letting this man in was a good idea. Maybe he could help them somehow.

“So, you were sent to aid citizens, right?”

“Yeah, help them get out and everything.” he answered before turning incredibly hostile.

“You better not be trying to start something again like Lennon!” he growled, his eyes burning holes past Brian to the sleeping man curled up next to him on the couch. Brian explained that he had no intention on saying anything similar to what John said before, that he just wanted to know more. He explained that he mainly wanted to know if more help was being sent. After all, London was a big city, it couldn’t just be abandoned because of this disease. Right? There had to be more help on the way, there had to be.

The constable shrugged. “I dunno. I heard that along with us, America was sending aid because of how severe the situation is.”

“Oh?” Brian perked up with hope.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it's true. If it was, then where are they?” he gestured around with his arms outstretched. “They certainly wouldn’t let a big deal such as the fucking Beatles to stay and rot for this long.” Brian hummed.

“But maybe it is true.” Brian attempted to argue, his desire to stay optimistic strong. “There might just be a delay.” Smith disagreed and would hear none of it.

“Nah, I just can’t believe it.”

“Why?”

“There are just types of people you just can’t trust, and besides Jews, it’s Americans.”

“I see…” he mumbled, the tension in the air beginning to form.

“Not you, though, Epstein, don’t worry. You seem like a good man, after all, you kept The Beatles alive. God knows they couldn’t have on their own.” his comment instantly reminded Brian of his similar one from earlier. Though, before he defended that he didn’t believe that The Beatles couldn’t care for themselves during the pandemic. For such a fan as he claimed to be, he surely wasn’t too confident or believing in them.

“But earlier you said…”

“I know what I said, but I didn’t want to discourage them. I mean, you have to agree, these boys are rockstars, not fighters. They didn’t spend hours training or learning how to survive in these types of situations. They just don’t know. They know how to entertain and answer questions at a conference, not any of this.” Brian had to agree on some level, his boys honestly never had any experience in this type of situation as far as Brian was concerned. But who was? Was anyone prepared or fully able to handle themselves when it came to going against these rabies-ridden things and actually making it out alive. Sure, some may have, but this wasn’t a common scenario.

Brian was at a loss for words, he didn’t want to sound like he was being condescending or attacking in any way, so he kept quiet. Brian could feel the constable’s firm grip on his shoulder.

“You alright, mate? You’ve gone cold on me.” Brian attempted to formulate a response, taking a minute to remember how to even speak.

“Yes, I’m alright, just a bit drowsy I suppose.” he answered, giving a little, faked yawn. Constable Smith seemed satisfied with his answer and gave him a lighthearted pat. His hand lingered on Brian’s back, rubbing in what should have been soothing, but came off as awkward.

“Yeah, this whole thing’s got me tired too.” Brian gave a half smile, shrinking from the pudgy man, hoping he would pull his hand away. Smith, however, did not seem to get the hint and gave Brian’s back another rub.

The manager yelped as a pair of legs fell on his lap. It was John awakening and giving himself a long stretch. John released a comedic, exaggerated yawn while his arms stretched over his head and his legs lifting over Brian’s lap.

“I didn’t interrupt a cute, romantic moment between the two of you, did I?” John yawned, picking the crust out of his eyes. Brian tensed when he felt the hand on his back tighten into a fist right before pulling away.

“No, but by the looks of it, we certainly interrupted your beauty sleep.” Constable Smith spat.

John chuckled. “Nice try, but I’ve already used that joke.” John calmly replied, brushing his hair with his fingers. “I also wouldn’t recommend saying anything about my face. Pot call the kettle black, y’know?” he quipped.

“John, you’ve just woken up. Must you act like this already?” Brian asked, the tension becoming thicker than before.

“Must you get your knickers in a twist already, Dad?” John waved him off, rising from the cushion. “I'm gonna go wake the others up. Hopefully, I won’t be getting in the middle of a make out session or anything.” Brian sighed with relief as John exited the room to make his way upstairs. He could feel himself breathe once again, but not for long once Smith spoke up.

“He needs to learn some respect, that one.” he muttered.

“John can get like this. He’s just under a lot of stress.” Brian explained.

“And that gives him an excuse? I’m an authority yet he treats me like shit in only the course of a day! And for what?! Protecting myself and my life! Does he expect me to just lie down and die when shit hits the fan?!” the constable’s fist smashed into the arm of the chair, forcing it to slightly bend. Brian quickly jumped to calm Smith.

“No, no, no he doesn’t expect that! None of us do!”

“You don’t think I’d do that again to you guys, do you?!” he raised his voice.

“Not at all! Neither I, nor the boys would ever think that!”

“I was just protecting myself!” Constable Smith’s hand clenched in his lap, near the location of his gun.

“Of course, of course. John just doesn’t understand that is all.” Brian babbled as he hid the fact that he was shaking at this point. He said whatever would make Smith happy to hear, nothing that would start more of a fire than there was. The constable began to breathe steadily, his hand moving away from the concealed firearm.

“You’re right, he doesn’t know. None of them do. They think I’m a monster for running away, but I’m not!”

“No, you were only trying to stay alive.”

The constable smiled. “They don’t get it, but you do. You understand that people need to think about themselves first. Then again, it’s more in you than them after all.” Brian felt himself become a touch sick at his comment.

“I suppose I just like to consider each side of a story.”

“Yeah, that’s why I like you, Epstein. You don’t jump on someone’s arse right away. They don’t appreciate that about you. In fact, they don’t seem to appreciate you at all.” Brian inquired to what Smith was talking about, somewhat not understanding. Constable Smith was more than happy to elaborate on how the boys treat Brian in front of him. How disrespectful it is.

“Those blokes act like they shouldn’t have to even listen to you! I’ve seen how they talk to you, if I ever spoke like that to my superior it’d be my arse.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call myself their superior. Managerial wise, sure, but not right now. After all, we’re a team in this fight.”

“Please, Epstein, you’re practically the leader. You’ve probably been saving them this entire pandemic.” Brian couldn’t deny that he had saved them one or two times during this. He did help them get out of the theatre where everything started, and he did help formulate some of the plan. But to say it was all him was wrong, his boys still did things for themselves. Brian couldn’t help but speak up against him.

“Well, actually they’ve been helping themselves a lot throughout this as well.” Brian mumbled.

“You don’t have to try making them look good.”

“But I'm not, Constable.” Brian said. “They've been fighting and defending themselves and each other.”

“You don’t have to lie for them. I know it’s a manager’s job to make sure clients have a good image, but that doesn’t matter anymore.” A spark of anger ignited inside Brian.

“Yes, I understand that image doesn’t matter with all of this,” Brian calmly began, “but I wouldn’t lie about this. My boys are perfectly capable of handling themselves. They’re not children for God’s sake.” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. The constable narrowed his eyes and moved his hand towards the weapon hidden near his waist.

“Watch your tone, Epstein.” Brian immediately held his own hand near his weapon, preparing for the absolute worst. “Before I change my mind about you.” Brian inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to not break eye contact.

Brian felt himself relax when he heard Paul and John come down the steps. Their conversing voices filling the tense air. The constable, in an attempt to look casual, moved his hand away and leaned back in the chair.

“Morning.” Paul greeted the two men. Brian gave a smile with a ‘good morning’ right back. Constable Smith only gave a small wave.

“Where’s George and Ringo?” asked Brian.

“They wanted to lie in for a few more minutes. I think they also mumbled something about washing up. Kinda hard to understand them since they were half asleep.” Paul answered.

“Yeah, for all we know they could’ve wanted some alone time for a wanking session.” John said, causing Paul to give a chuckle. Neither of them seemed to notice the officer’s eye roll. However, Paul did notice that Brian seemed tense.

“Did anything happen?” Paul questioned. Brian merely shook his head, saying that nothing at all happened. Paul tried asking again to make sure, not fully convinced. Brian assured him that everything was fine. Was it though?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so sorry if this chapter is a bit cheesy. I am quite proud of how long it is compared to the other chapters though!  
> Also, just a heads up, there is a light sex scene!

The drummer lied in his own little web of warmth in the filled bed, sandwiched between Paul and George. He knew he should have been opposed to being so squashed in to the point where it was difficult to move without waking one of them up, but he didn’t. Instead, he actually found it enjoyable, even comforting. He almost wished he would never have to leave this position, and just stay like this forever. The thought seemed to belong to that of a child, just lie and hide in bed, where the monsters can’t get you. The monsters won’t hurt you if you keep your head under the covers and your mum close by, or in this case, your two bandmates.

Ringo felt a rustling behind him in the bed that pulled him out of his deep sleep. It had been John shaking Paul awake. Ringo recognized John’s voice instantly even when he was so asleep he could barely think. He could hear them whispering to each other, and could make out some things despite barely being awake.

“Paul, come on it’s morning.”

“Mm…can’t you come back in five minutes?”

“Paul, get up I don’t want to deal with that prick by meself.” he heard Paul groan.

“Just don’t talk, then you won’t have to.” Paul could be heard saying, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“We both know that won’t happen.” a sigh was heard, then the feeling of weight shifting on the bed. Paul had gotten up, then attempted to wake him and George, who clung to Ringo as he slept still, up. Paul attempted to call out for them, but Ringo only kept his eyes shut, hoping they would leave them alone. Paul and John, of course did not have that in mind, and only persisted.

“If we have to get up so do you, son.” John said, giving Ringo a small shake. George mumbled incoherently and moved a little.

“You two can cuddle later.” John tossed a stray pillow on Ringo’s head. The drummer

“One more minute, John. We wanted to wash up anyways.” The drummer grumbled into the pillow. “Please.” he added. Ringo could hear John and Paul simultaneously sigh, a clear sign that they were giving in to his wishes. John patted his side lightly and took back the pillow.

“Alright fine, but don’t get too rowdy up here alone, kids.” John said. “One odd sounding creak or groan and we’re coming back.” he warned, Ringo could almost see the finger wag John was doing through his shut eyelids. He mumbled a thank you and listened for their parting footsteps, accompanied by a door closing.

The second he knew they were gone, Ringo felt himself relax once again and feel his mind wander. The only problem was that each time his mind wandered, it replayed that one moment so fresh in his mind he could almost reach out and touch it. The thought that would just not leave his subconscious no matter how hard he tried to repress it. The short kiss given to him by his own bandmate, George. It was so quick, yet he could recall every detail. The smell on George’s skin, the feeling of his wetted lips as they shortly locked with his own, and the forcefulness of the kiss. His face grew warm at the memory. He never thought about a friend this way, especially not George. It confused him greatly, and he wasn’t sure just what he was feeling. Along with that, he wasn’t sure what George was feeling, but he had to find out. He wasn’t going to let George brush it off like it was nothing when there was clearly something behind it.

“George?” Ringo asked quietly. “George wake up.” George gave a small humming response as his eyelids slowly opened.

“What…?” George sleepily asked, rubbing his eye as he moved out of Ringo’s arms. He propped himself up on his elbows and gazed up at the drummer. Ringo noticed the look in George’s eyes that told him that George knew what Ringo was going to say.

“We need to talk.” Ringo pushed himself so that he was fully sitting upwards. He watched how uneasy George became, how his eyes darted around the room. Looking everywhere except at Ringo.

“George.” Ringo called his attention again. George’s eyes suddenly snapped to make contact with his own. George was obviously forcing himself to not look away.

“What is it?” George asked, pretending not to know.

“Why did you…you know…”

“Kiss you?” George finished his question for him. Ringo nodded, hoping for any answer that didn’t point to what Ringo thought it was. That George felt an attraction towards him. George didn’t give an answer right away, a bad indication for Ringo. Still, he listened closely for George to speak, not even breathing.

“I don’t know. This infection’s got everything so fucked up, and after what’s happened to…” George rubbed the back of his neck. Ringo gave another nod, indicating he knew who he was talking about. “Yeah, and I just feel…weird…”

“Weird? How?” George broke eye contact and glanced away shortly. He sucked on his bottom lip, then licked it.

“I just…I think I…” Ringo prayed George wasn’t about to say what he thought he was about to say. “love you.” Ringo cursed quietly and sighed. He should have known George was about to say that. This apocalypse has got everything turned around backwards. Nothing was normal anymore, nobody knows what to feel. Even George had fallen into that.

“George, I have a girlfriend.” was the only thing Ringo could reply with. “I love Maureen.”

“How do you know she’s alive.”

“Stop, George.” Ringo warned, his tone uncharacteristically cold.

“I was just-“

“No, you almost smashed John’s face in when he said anything about Pattie. Don’t think you can just say what you want about Maureen.” Ringo harshly scolded, his finger tapping the mattress with each syllable. George recoiled, remorse clear on his face, and apologized.

“It's fine, George, just don’t say stuff like that. Especially since you know how much it hurts.”

“I'm sorry.” George said, sitting up and shifting closer.

“I said you’re fine, Geo.” Ringo assured him, feeling frozen in place.

“Not that. I mean about my feelings and all.” George responded. “It's all just so much. I need someone so bad right now.” his finger grazed the dirtied rings on Ringo’s fingers. A sudden feeling engulfed Ringo, the same one present during his thoughts about the kiss.

“You’re confused is all. You’re just going through a lot of troubles.” Ringo sputtered. Before he even realized what was happening, George had already pushed Ringo onto his back and climbed on top of him. Straddling his waist, George leaned down and smashed their lips together. Ringo pushed him away, breaking the kiss.

“George, stop. You don’t love me.”

“I do.” George protested. “Do you think I’m just having a go?”

“No, but I know you. I’ve never seen you like men this way.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Ritchie.” George leaned in for another kiss, but was blocked by his friend’s hand. Ringo had to admit that there was something in him that wanted to kiss George again. The feeling of warm skin against his in such an intimate way. He missed that so much.

“I know you loved Pattie.”

“I still love her,” George pointed out, “but I love you too. The heart can love more than one, Ritch.” Ringo wanted to speak again, but he was silenced by George’s persistent lips once again. The drummer felt his eyes shut, but pushed George back once again. George leaned in close, his cheek rubbing against Ringo’s.

“George, I know you're not queer.” Ringo said.

“It doesn’t matter, Ritchie. The world is ending, and who knows if we’ll even be alive for much longer.”

“Don't say that.” Ringo said, not wanting such dark thoughts festering in his head.

“But it’s true. We don’t know how long we’ve got.” George said solemnly, still rubbing against Ringo’s cheek. “I don’t want to die feeling like shite.”

“George…” Ringo weakly protested.

“I need this, Ritchie please. I need to feel good again.” George whined, grinding against Ringo’s crotch where a bulge was beginning to show. Desperation could almost be smelled on the younger guitarist as he rutted against Ringo. All he wanted at this point was some pleasure. No, he didn’t want it, he needed it. Ringo would be lying if it didn’t oddly arouse him. To see his bandmate in such a state of lust and longing that just dripped off of him like water. George stared down at him, silently awaiting for Ringo to push him off. But that wasn’t the case. Ringo didn’t speak for a moment before uttering one phrase.

“Come here.” Ringo yanked George down into a heated kiss, causing George to moan in surprise. His hips pushed his growing erection against Ringo’s, pushing the once resisting bandmate further. Sliding his tongue along George’s lips, Ringo was granted entry as George parted his lips. The two musicians’ tongues slowly slid together, fully tasting each other. George captured Ringo’s tongue in his mouth, suckling on it and lightly sliding his teeth against it. The drummer’s eyelashes fluttered at the feeling of the guitarist’s sharp teeth. He wanted to feel those teeth in more places. All the while, George continued to dry hump and grind against his friend, eliciting more dirty sounds that Ringo tried to keep down.

He felt so incredibly close, his cock straining against his underwear and trousers.

“Wait, Geo, stop.” Ringo groaned, holding George’s hips in place.

“Something wrong?” he asked, both confused and worried.

“Well, George, we only have these clothes and these sheets.” Ringo gestured to himself, then under him. “It wouldn’t exactly be good if we dirtied either.” George chuckled and agreed.

“Why don’t we move this to the bathtub?” George asked, a devious grin plastered on his face. Ringo eagerly nodded and allowed George to pull him off the bed.

George opened the door by a crack and listened closely. Voices, mainly John’s and Paul’s, could be heard downstairs. Putting a finger to his lips, George told Ringo to stay quiet. Ringo made a zippering motion over his lips, and followed the younger guitarist to the bathroom across from the bedroom. The two tiptoed, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Ringo slowly shut the door behind him, only to then be met with George’s lips once more.

“Save it for the bath, Geo.” Ringo laughed, moving past his friend, and turned the water on. It still amazed him that the house had running water, hot water nonetheless. But he wasn’t one to complain, and neither was George. Steam rose and surrounded them, creating an even more erotic atmosphere. Ringo bent over to turn the water off once it was at a good height, and the two began to strip. They were unable to take their eyes off of their equally hard cocks.

“After you.” he gestured to the tub. George took a seat in the small tub only to be followed by Ringo. The bathtub was clearly not meant for two considering just how close together they were forced to be. Not that that mattered though since in the span of a few seconds, Ringo was already between George’s legs and attacking his mouth. He groaned as George tugged at his bottom lip and buried his fingers in his hair. Running his hands up George’s body, Ringo took the chance to give his nipples a small pinch. Shocking pleasure coursed through George, causing him to jolt.

“Christ, Georgie.” Ringo breathed. He cried out much louder than necessary when George’s slim fingers grasped around his erection. George used his other hand to hold it over the drummer’s agape mouth.

“Can't let anyone hear, Ritch, remember?” he teasingly licked his lips. Ringo gave a silent nod and a thrust of his hips, hoping George would take the hint. Luckily, he did and began to slowly pump his hard cock. Ringo panted heavily against George’s palm, pleasure engulfing him. George then, much to Ringo’s dismay, slowed down his hand movements, which caused Ringo to thrust into his hand.

“Eager?” George laughed, pulling his hand away from Ringo’s mouth, and swiping his thumb over the tip of Ringo’s dick.

“You’re one to talk.” he shot back, taking hold of George’s prick. George only responded with a shuddering gasp and a thrust of his own.

“Eager?” Ringo playfully mocked.

“Shut your gob, Rings.” George sucked on his lip. “Don't forget whose got your prick in his hand.”

“Fair enough.” Ringo smirked, locking their lips once more before speeding up his movements. George mirrored the act. Ringo moved his hand on George’s erection, squeezing the base every once in a while.

“O-oh, fuck…” George gasped, pumping his friend faster. Ringo knew he wouldn’t last much longer. It had felt like such a long time since he felt this way. Ringo loved the sounds his bandmate was making. They were so sinful and needy. Every little breath and moan was enough to push him closer to the edge.

“Oohh, I’m so close, Geo. Please don’t stop.” he begged, his other hand going back to rubbing one of George’s nipples again. He buried his face in the crook of George’s neck, attempting to keep his voice low.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” George said as he sunk his teeth into Ringo’s shoulder, feeling just as close.

Ringo couldn’t help throwing his head back and moaning as he climaxed, only for George to quickly cover his mouth again to muffle him just in time. Giving one last tug and a flick of his wrist, Ringo had George orgasm into his hand. He bit so hard into his shoulder, Ringo was sure that there would be a mark later.

George fell back onto the tub surface with a splash of water spilling. Ringo also was incapable of holding up his own weight, and collapsed on top of George. The two gasped and panted, steadying their breaths. Ringo, with his head on George’s chest, could hear the pounding of his heart against his ear. He could feel George’s hands wander up and down Ringo's back, his fingernails lightly scratching against his wet skin.

Finally able to move again, Ringo moved off of George to sit up. The two exchanged stares before what had just happened sunk into Ringo’s mind. The fog of arousal now cleared away from his eyes, he now comprehended what he had done. His blood ran cold once he realized that this person, completely naked, under him was his friend, George. The odd feeling began to rear its ugly head yet again as he looked on.

“What did we just do?” Ringo asked, eyes wide.

“I don’t exactly know.” Ringo tried to move as far from George as he could in such a cramped tub, gripping the sides until his knuckles were white. The discomfort and awkwardness surrounded them.

“Ringo?” George asked the shaken drummer.

“We just- we just did that, George.” he muttered gravely, that strange feeling from before still swirling inside him. George reached over to touch his friend only to be met with a flinch. An expression of hurt took over George’s face.

“Do you hate me?” George wondered. Ringo raised his eyebrows in surprise towards the question.

“Of course I don’t hate you.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Geo, we just _kissed_ and _wanked_ each other off. That’s not typically something mates do.” Ringo said.

“I've already told you I feel more towards you than that.”

“I know, it’s just…it’s all so…” Ringo tried to think of the appropriate word.

“Wrong?” George filled in, still clearly hurt. Ringo shook his head, saying that wasn’t the right word.

“More like…weird? I mean, I suppose I should say wrong, it is illegal. But I guess that doesn’t matter now. But even if it did, that’s still not it.” Ringo shrugged, beginning to relax again. “Geo?”

“Hm?”

“Is it bad that I enjoyed it?” George smiled and leaned over to give Ringo a quick peck on the lips.

“Not at all.” The corners of Ringo’s mouth tugged into a loving smile. The two boys embraced and rocked a bit which allowed more water to tip over the edge of the tub. Ringo kissed George’s cheek, then his neck. George, wishing that their fun didn’t have to end, hesitantly pulled the plug out of the bathtub.

“As much as I’d love to go for another round,” George said, pushing Ringo away, “we need to get dressed and head downstairs.”

“Yeah, no need for the others to get suspicious. After all, John did threaten to come up here at the smallest moan.”

“And you already almost blew it.” George gave Ringo a playful shove. The musicians then shared a laugh and rose to their feet to step out of the tub. As Ringo dressed, he snuck a peak at George’s nude form once more. That feeling still remained as he laid his eyes on George’s slender, dripping body. His stomach dropped at the realization of the feeling he had all this time. It was _love_.


	13. Chapter 13

Meanwhile downstairs, Paul and John had taken their seats next to Brian. John sat farthest from the constable, while Paul was stuck in the middle between John and Brian. An awkward silence consumed the room with its uncomfortable atmosphere. The bassist could feel the hatred burn off of John and Constable, so much so that he was worried he would burn himself by simply touching John. Paul wished he had something to say to dissolve the silence, but he could only sit there. Finally, Paul got the courage to say something.

“George and Ringo sure have been up there a while.”

“Yeah.” John said, staring at nothing. It wasn’t like John to be this way, quiet and withdrawn, but Paul knew that John was just trying not to mouth off to the officer. Paul jumped when Smith shifted. No one seemed to notice, however, the two sets of eyes now on the constable.

“Should I go check on them?” Constable Smith asked.

Paul shook his head. “Oh, no, no, I’m sure they’re fine. If there was a problem, I’m sure we’d hear it.” Paul smiled, making it look like he wasn’t uncomfortable or nervous. The constable narrowed his eyes, and stood up anyway. Paul’s eyes widened, unsure of what the man was about to do. John took notice of how tense Paul became and stood up as well.

“He said they’re probably fine, you don’t have to look.” he calmly, yet firmly stated. The officer scoffed and rolled his eyes. Turning around, he moved towards the pile of supplies and abandoned weapons. John subconsciously moved a bit forwards, blocking Paul.

“Calm down, I only wanted something to eat. It is breakfast after all.” Smith ripped open a crisp bag and shoved a couple crisps into his mouth. Paul, Brian, and John cringed at how obnoxiously loud the officer chewed. John sat back down next to his friend, and leaned in close. Paul could practically feel John’s lips against his ear as he spoke, causing him to give a small jolt of electricity.

“I knew there was a reason they’re called pigs.” John whispered. Paul bit his lip to keep himself from laughing, but a small giggle escaped when he took another glance at the officer. Paul felt sick when he saw Constable Smith’s eyes snap towards him, making eye contact.

“What's so funny?” he questioned, moving closer to Paul. Both Brian and John prepared themselves to stand up and fight if the constable were to pull anything.

“N-nothing!”

“No really, I love a good joke!” the officer said, sounding similar to a teacher finding a student talking during class. He popped another handful of crisps into his mouth.

“It was nothing.” John spoke up, glaring Smith down.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” he pointed a finger towards John, spitting crumbs everywhere as he spoke.

“I'm pretty sure that anyone in the line of your projectile has the right to speak.” John shot back, wiping a wet crisp crumb that landed on his face. Paul could physically see the constable’s face turn to a light pink. Annoyance shone on his face. John wasn’t much better, his jaw was clenched and his hands were balled into fists. He was holding back so much he looked like he could explode.

Paul glanced towards Brian, and he was surprised to see such a look of fear etched on his face. The bassist was shaken when the officer’s voice invaded his ears.

“Well?” Smith asked, growing incredibly impatient. Paul didn’t know what to say, so he chose not to speak at all. Constable Smith looked like he was ready to go as far as to jump Paul as he got in his face. Paul quietly stared at the Constable’s face. He couldn’t help but notice that the pinkness of his face and the flaring of his nostrils gave him the image of a pig. Paul couldn’t hold back another snicker.

Constable Smith yanked Paul by the fabric of his shirt, raising his open palm. Paul’s eyes widened as a strong hand slapped him across the face. The stinging feeling soon following. John jumped from his seat while Brian gripped his weapon. John tightly grabbed the officer by his arm and moved him back from Paul.

“Don't you dare fucking do that again!” John snarled, still holding onto Constable Smith.

“Always so sweet to see a man defend his _lady_.” Paul, holding his hurt cheek, became red with embarrassment.

“Shut up.”

“I'm just saying, Lennon. It’s a good thing you’re here, I could’ve damaged the poor girl’s face too much. Then what would she do?” John’s face now also became a bit warm, and his hatred grew more and more. He absolutely despised the constable. Not only was he a coward who hurt Paul, but now he was making Paul into a joke. Disgust spread through his body like a virus, and he absolutely wanted to kill this man. He gripped Smith’s arm tighter.

“You better shut it before I-“ John was cut off by the tip of a gun pressing into his chest. John didn’t finish his sentence. Paul loudly gasped and begged the constable not to do anything irrational.

“Before you what? Last I checked _I’m_ the authority, not _you_ , Mister Pop Star.”

“Smith, we are reasonable adults here.” Brian reasoned. “Let's not do anything we’ll regret.”

“I don’t have regrets, Epstein. If I choose to do something, I don’t regret it.” he said, cocking his gun and pushing it more into John’s chest. John stood frozen, like a deer in headlights. Paul was violently shaking, his mind blank on what he could do.

“Please, don’t do anything.” Paul pleaded.

“I'm the authority.” Constable Smith restated. “And it’s about damn time you started treating me like it. Now, get off my arm and sit the hell down.” He shook John, but he didn’t budge. Paul stared, wide-eyed. John couldn’t even follow orders if his life depended on it! John didn’t even utter a word, he only glared, his breathing quickening.

Silence covered them like a blanket. Paul and Brian didn't even dare to breathe. It was then that the sound of footsteps could be heard. Paul and Brian exhaled, thankful that George and Ringo were not only alright, but also broke up whatever could have happened. The two peered down, slightly alarmed and confused.

“Oh, look who decided to come down!” John called, releasing Smith, who quickly hid his gun away. The two shrugged off John’s jab.

“Did anything happen while we were upstairs?” asked Ringo, concerned about what they just walked into.

“Yeah, a whole horde broke in, but it’s okay they just wanted an autograph then fucked off.” John said, dryly, moving away from the constable and sitting back down. Ringo rolled his eyes and sat on the carpet. It all seemed okay for the moment, so he didn’t feel the need to keep questioning.

“Are you alright, Paul?” George questioned, noticing Paul's reddened face. Paul told George that he was fine, that he was just feeling a bit warm. George persisted, doubtful that Paul was telling the truth. Paul didn't back down and assured him once again, that that was it. George nodded and soon began to eye up the pile of supplies, curiously.

“Do you think we have enough to last for a while?” he asked, nervously. Paul didn’t have an exact answer, and only looked to Brian, hoping he would have one. It seemed like he did, but he didn’t want to say it.

“I guess we should try to find more supplies. There’s got to be another store close.” Paul said, shrugging. Brian raised his eyebrows and looked to the floor.

“And just who do you expect to go look?” John irritatedly asked.

“I was actually going to offer to go with a couple others!” Paul argued.

“Sure, Paul, you probably were just waiting til someone offered so you could go along with it and hope they say you don’t have to!” Paul was taken back by John’s outburst towards him. It hurt, yet angered Paul that John would assume that of him.

“What's your problem, John?!” Paul raised his voice, causing the others, even the constable, in the room to jump.

“Nothing! All I’m saying is that you’d happily let someone else go instead of you.” John snapped.

“I already said I’d go!”

“Not until I specifically asked you did.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Brian intervened. “What matters is finding more supplies.” The two arguing boys took a minute to cool down and agreed with Brian. The manager gave each a nod, and offered to go along as well.

“Wait, are you sure this is a good idea?” Ringo interjected. “I mean, it’s not like a usual trip to the shop, you could get seriously hurt. Paul could slip and hurt his ankle again!”

Paul glared at Ringo. “I'm not some delicate damsel!” Ringo winced.

“I wasn’t implying you were! It’s just that you hurt it once, you might not be completely stable if you needed to run away quickly.” Paul didn’t argue, but still didn’t look very happy.

“I know it’s dangerous, Ringo, but we need more food. We won’t last much longer if we keep putting it off.” Brian reasoned.

“I agree with, Epstein. He knows what he’s talking about.” Constable Smith commented. Ringo's lip curled at his statement. It wasn’t like Smith was pushing people aside to volunteer to go.

“Ritchie, Brian’s right. We can’t put it off, we need more supplies.” Paul said. Ringo sighed and shook his head. He didn’t want his friends to go out there, no when it was like this. In spite of this though, there was nothing he could do to stop them since they were right in a way.

“Just be careful.” Ringo finally said. Brian gave a nod.

“So that’s two.” Paul mumbled, lazily pointing his finger towards him and Brian. He turned towards the auburn-haired boy. “How about you come along, John since you’re so quick to jump on me not wanting to go.”

“I was just about to offer, Macca.” John poked Paul’s chest as he walked over to grab their weapons. John grabbed his mallet and Paul’s axe. “Think you’ll want this?” John tossed the axe, causing Paul to scramble to grab it by the handle.

“Can't you just hand me a sharp weapon??” Paul said, a bit exasperated.

“Got to keep those reflexes.” John chuckled, but Paul wasn’t nearly as amused. He turned his back to John to face the door.

“Shouldn't we all go?” asked George. Brian shook his head.

“No, we need some people here to keep watch.”

“Are you sure?” George asked in a small voice, rich with worry.

“Yes. Don’t worry we’ll be fine.”

“Alright.”

“We'll be back.” Brian informed. “Keep this door locked and don’t let anyone in.” The constable waved him off as George gave a salute to the manager.

“I'm sure they’ll be fine, mum.” John told him, patting his shoulder. “Good bye, fellas, don’t have too much fun without us!”

“Oh, we’ll try” Ringo put on a smile, watching as his friends left them to journey out into the dangerous city. The door shut as Ringo turned around. His eyes first fell upon the lounging officer, then to George. He could tell George was extremely uneasy with the cop there, Ringo would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. It was going to be a long wait.


	14. Chapter 14

The door closed right before their eyes. George and Ringo just watched as their best friends left and put themselves at risk for their sake. George scrambled to the window to watch the three walk out to the parked cab. He noticed how Paul had a very slight limp every couple steps. Ringo followed and knocked on the window. They turned, smiled, and gave a wave. Ringo and George waved back, trying to seem as calm as they could manage. George couldn’t help, but feel guilty about not going. He felt selfish and lazy; he felt like Constable Smith.

Constable Smith. The man had barely interacted with them, but what he and Ringo just walked into was certainly not some play session. George would have to be completely oblivious to think nothing was wrong with what they interrupted. Paul looked scared and hurt, Brian was on edge, and John seemed snappy and almost enraged. George even thought he saw a glimpse of the constable’s gun. He knew that Paul had been lying, he knew there was something wrong, but he also knew that there was a reason Paul was lying. A reason which could not be said out loud. Yes, Smith said only a word or two to Ringo and George, but that was enough to leave a bad taste.

Now they were practically trapped in this flat with him. Confusion took over George’s mind. Why would his friends just leave them with someone who was clearly somewhat unstable? George didn’t want to be angry with his friends for doing this though, for leaving them with him. He understood that there wasn’t much they could do. They all couldn’t just leave. What if the constable locked them out and claimed the home for himself? They would have to spend even more time in the outside world, looking for a new shelter. It wouldn’t be good news at all. Still, George wished he wasn’t stuck there with the officer, it only gave him a weighted feeling of anxiety in his chest and stomach.

“I hope they make it back.” George mumbled, absent mindedly. Ringo patted his shoulder, a hopeful attempt to put his mind at ease.

“I'm sure they’ll be fine.” Ringo told him. The thought of them making it back perfectly fine with more than enough supplies seemed so foreign. George wanted to hope for the best, but he could do nothing but expect the worse. Optimism slowly faded away and left behind a great heap of pessimism.

“You sure?” George questioned. Ringo pulled him closer, his arm around his shoulders.

“Positive.” the young guitarist put on a tiny smile, not fully convinced, but wanting to be hopeful.

“Don't just say things to the boy.” George heard the constable say. He forgot Smith was even there, it was a rude awakening to remember his presence. Ringo detached from George to spin around to Smith.

“What?” Ringo asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Don't just say things to make him feel better. It only sets him up for disappointment.” he said, crumpling up the bag and tossing it to the side.

“I'm not just saying things. I know they’ll be fine.” the drummer retorted.

“How do you know?” Smith pressed on, sitting up a little.

“I just know.”

“How?” he purposely asked again, enjoying the rise he was getting out of Ringo. George noted the smirk he tried to hide on his face.

“I just do.” Ringo answered through his clenched teeth. The officer shrugged and slumped back. George knew his friend was growing angry surprisingly quick. It seemed to difficult to set Ringo off, but this constable was able to do it with a sentence. He knew Ringo wanted to make him feel better, and in a way George thought the constable was right. He didn’t want to just be told what he wanted to hear, despite how comforting it was.

“Whatever lets you sleep, drummer boy.” There was absolutely no attempt to hide his smirk.

“I know they’ll be okay because they have each other, they’re not just off on their own messing about.” Ringo continued. George quietly called his name to get him to stop. He was quickly getting into dangerous territory. However, Ringo didn’t seem to realize it, and continued to speak. “And I know they won't just leave each other-oof!” the last part was made inaudible due to George elbowing Ringo as hard as he could.

“What the hell?” Ringo whispered to George.

“Shut up, Ritchie.”

“Watch your mouth, drummer boy, you never know what trouble it could get you in.” the constable said, ominously. Ringo opened his mouth to combat what he said, but received another small blow from George.

“ _Shut up_.” he whispered again with urgency. His face displayed anger, but in his eyes were fear. If Constable Smith could kill his own partner with no problem, there would be nothing stopping him from killing one of them for getting on his nerves. He wouldn’t face consequences, he could say it was self defense. He could look everyone straight in the eyes and said they just snapped and came at him as crazy as the infected. George didn’t want to let that happen, and hoped to silently communicate with his older friend. Ringo, finally catching on, kept his mouth shut.

“Sorry.” he whispered back to his friend. George wanted to squeeze the drummer’s hand or give some form of physical affection to show it was fine, but he couldn’t in front of the constable. Even in this apocalyptic setting, the presence of the law still worried him, especially with something like this. So instead, he only made his way to the small food pile to have breakfast.

“Won't be too long until we’re out.” George said, opening a small bag of biscuits. He offered one to Ringo, who graciously took it. He took small bites of the biscuit, wanting to make it last as long as possible.

“Why did you take such a small amount of food?” Constable Smith raised an eyebrow. “You must’ve known you’d need more.” Ringo laughed and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, but the thing is we actually did have much more than this.” Ringo said, evidently unsure whether to explain the reason for such a lack of supplies.

“Then what the hell happened? It hasn’t been that long since it all went to shit!” he interrogated, fully interested in finding out the answer.

“We, erm, found something in this flat, and it, uhm, helped with our appetite so to speak. It also helped us relax a little…”

“You smoked pot.” the officer blatantly put it, eyebrows raised. The two musicians answered with a nod, nervous to how he would react. They knew he couldn’t arrest them, but what if everything blows over and he attempts it? It seemed unlikely, but it was concerning.

However, the much expected reaction was not what they got. Instead, he actually cracked a smile. It surprised the both of them greatly. He was actually doubling over, laughing like a hyena. George could actually feel a lightness in his chest for once since he was around the officer.

“So you guys, during this whole thing, this NATIONWIDE PANIC,” he snorted, “were just sitting around and getting high??” the constable let loose another hyena cackle, wiping a tear from his eye. Ringo looked at George, the two began to giggle along with the officer. Whether it was out of nervousness, or the sheer humor if the situation, they couldn't tell.

“Then you just ate away at your supplies, which you NEED to live!” Smith’s hysterical laughter continued. “Christ, please tell me you remember what Epstein was like!”

George gave another giggle. “He actually didn’t smoke any.”

“We sort of used it up.” Ringo added. “Shame because he could’ve used it. Looked like his head was about to pop off when he saw us.” George responded. Ringo gave another chuckle as a response. The constable had just let out his last few snorts and chortles, holding his stomach with one hand.

“I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.” Constable Smith wiped away the tears in his eyes, composing himself. “What more should I expect from a bunch of celebrities.” George and Ringo had stopped laughing.

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Ringo.

“Nothing personal, it’s just how you guys are.”

“How we are?” George questioned. The lightness that he had in his chest was once again weighted down.

“Yeah, you know the whole rock star life and all. Money, fame, drugs, not having to really take life seriously. It all comes together.”

“We do take life seriously.”

“Yeah, exactly why you chose that time to get high and eat most of your food.”

“That was just a stupid mistake, though. We were under a lot of stress and we needed something to keep us from going crazy!” Ringo argued. “It's not that we don’t take this seriously, we were just run down.”

“Oh, you were under stress! Well, last I checked you didn’t have to watch your entire squad get taken down by those beasts! You didn’t have to see the people you worked with get torn to shreds! And I don’t recall you having to put a bullet through your partner’s skull!” George had a tightening feeling in his chest. The constable didn’t know what they had to do, he didn’t know the pain they felt. He just assumed that they were going through this apocalypse as though it were a game.

“You didn’t seem too bothered by that earlier.” Ringo argued.

“I’m an officer, I can’t react like that under dire circumstances! Plus, I don’t exactly have the luxury of getting to sit around crying while smoking a joint!”

“What do you know about us?! We made one mistake, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t suffering either!” George yelled. Constable Smith rolled his eyes and groaned.

“You’re not suffering! You still got your lousy friends, you didn’t have to kill a dying man, hopelessly begging to come with you!” George and Ringo had to wonder where this sudden passion was coming from. Even if he couldn’t react that way, he showed no emotion toward what he had done. He seemed so indifferent. What happened?

“No, you’re right I didn’t have to kill a dying man. I had to kill me fucking GIRLFRIEND before she could turn into one of those freaks!” George’s voice began to sound strained at this point. Constable Smith seemed unfazed by George, however.

“Is that supposed to make me feel bad? You people are something. I killed the man who worked with me every single fucking day, and you had to just shoot one of your hundreds of whores.” George then knew what he was doing, what he wanted. The constable wanted their pity. That’s what he seemed to want since he got there. To make himself out to be the only victim with validated pain. As if what happened to them didn’t matter because of their status. George wanted to sympathize with the fact that he did regret what he did, even if for pity. But that didn’t mean George was willing to let Smith talk down to him, as if his own feelings didn’t matter. Nor was he going to let him call Pattie, his Pattie, a common whore.

“She wasn’t some fucking whore, I loved her! Do you think you’re the only person who’s ever had to do something as terrible as killing someone?!” George could feel angry tears brimming in his eyes. He didn’t even bother to care that George shot his own girlfriend. The girl whom he adored, and was even going to marry, he didn’t even try to care. A tear began to creep down his cheek.

“What, are you gonna start crying?” Constable Smith mocked. George was about to practically leap on the officer when Ringo took hold of his wrist. George tried to yank himself free, but Ringo persisted and held on tightly.

“Don't stoop lower for him.” George fixedly looked down into Ringo’s blue eyes, swiping the tear away. He was right, George couldn’t let himself become like the officer. That’s just what he would want. An excuse to kill them and say it was their fault.

“Christ, you two are just as bad as that John and Pauline. You’re not gonna bum each other right here are you?”

“Don't you have anything nice to say?” asked Ringo.

“Don’t you ever shut up?" the constable snapped.

“I think that question answers itself.” George snickered. Ringo wanted to join George with a small laugh, but his eye caught the constable. His deadly glare that could’ve killed him right then and there. The drummer became incredibly serious, a sense of dread taking over. He kept a hold on George’s wrist.

“Maybe we should go back upstairs. You know, to make sure nothing gets in through there.” Ringo said, wanting to get away from the constable, even if only upstairs. Smith caught on fairly quick to that.

“I doubt they have enough mental capacity to climb.” Constable Smith assured, still slightly holding his glare. Ringo shrugged.

“You never know. It’s not like this is a common thing.” He swallowed hard as the officer eyed him and George up and down, seemingly scrutinizing every part of them.

“Do you think I’m going to kill you?” the constable suddenly asked in a low voice. His expression became plain, impossible to read.

“W-what?” Ringo was surprised by the question. George couldn’t say he wasn't thrown off either. Constable Smith still held his neutral expression as he repeated himself.

“Do you think I’m going to _kill_ you?”


	15. Chapter 15

“No, no, no!”

“John, calm down I’m sure we’ll find something eventually.” Brian coerced from the front seat as Paul drove the cab steadily down the desolate street.

“When, Eppy? We’ve been looking _for-bloody-ever_!” John whined, pressing his forehead to the glass of the window.

“John, it has only been a good twenty minutes.” Brian corrected.

“Feels like longer, Bri. Look, poor Paulie looks like he’s about to pass out at the wheel. Poor lad’s exhausted from all that sitting and steering.” Paul gave no response, in fact, he didn’t even move his eyes. His eyes kept focus on the road, not once turning away from it to even give John the slightest attention. John knew Paul was still a bit mad about John accusing him earlier. Calling him selfish and whatnot, but John had figured that Paul would eventually brush it off sooner or later. He would have to, of course; no one else he could exactly go to anymore and call his best friend anymore. Paul was persistent with his anger, though. He seemed sure to not give John the satisfaction that he was over it, which only agitated John. Paul really could be a spiteful and petty boy when he wanted to be.

Brian sighed, continuing his search out of the dirtying window. John did the same, not spotting a single eligible shop. John had wished that they could find a giant grocery store that didn’t look to be crawling with infected. His eyes, moving to the grey sky every once in a while. He decided that he rather liked the cloudy skies during all of this, much more fitting. It made him, in a way, less somber. John wasn’t sure why, though. He suspected that it made him feel as though nature sympathized with him.

He couldn’t think too much on it because just as he did, he was almost thrown out of his seat. The cab swerved and skidded to a stop on the side of the curb, almost going over it. The cab felt close to even tipping just by how quick it all was. Luckily, it didn’t, but that didn’t mean John nor Brian were any less affected. Both John and Brian were woken by such a abrupt action, each gripping the closest possible thing.

“Fuck was that for?!” John screamed, his heart beating at one hundred beats a second.

“Was there something in the road??” Brian asked, curled hair tousled.

Paul shook his head. “Here's a decent looking shop.” Paul said, pointing a finger out of his window. The shop was just as small as the first one they found before, if not smaller. The door was shut, but a window was smashed open. Even with the window smashed, it was still difficult to see if there was anything in there, but it looked fairly unlikely.

“You've got to be kidding.” John said. “The place looks like it’s been fucking bled dry!”

“It does not! Looks better than the other shops we’ve been passing!” Paul retorted, not turning to face John.

“Paul, let me be the blind one of the two of us, alright? Someone’s got to have some fucking eyes here.” John snidely commented.

“There could be something in there.” Brian defended Paul, opening the door to step into the street. “After all, it does look a bit promising.” John grabbed his mallet, shrugging in defeat, with a shake of his head. Paul followed, axe in hand and a look of determination. John didn’t notice the side eye from Paul as he got out of the car. John peered around at their surroundings, seeing that it was cleared. The muggy air that surrounded them seemed to stick to John’s skin and lungs, restricting his breathing. It almost felt as though there was no oxygen at all for the moment.

The three men approached the abandoned shop, holding their weapons up, ready to use. Brian led the way, with Paul behind him, and John in the very back, watching out from behind. John stood alert when he thought he felt a small raindrop come in contact with the skin of his neck. The cold water running down into his shirt. He tapped Paul on the shoulder.

“Hey, Paul, I think it’s about to rain.” He told his friend. “Hmm, yeah.” Paul said, coldly. John began to burn with annoyance towards Paul’s disinterest and distancing. The raindrop could have turned into steam by just how burned up the older guitarist was becoming. “I thought you’d be a bit more concerned, Paulie. Especially since it is your kind that melts from water.” Paul finally turned, only to give John a death glare. The guitarist didn’t care, he just enjoyed the fact that he got a reaction. Paul went to face ahead to Brian once more, not uttering the tiniest answer.

Brian carefully pressed his hand to the door, slowly opening it. Brian squinted into the dimmed store, trying to see the back. Completely empty of infected, but to their dismay, it was also empty of most food and drinks. Cleaned shelves and refrigerators, all that was left were little things of flour and other things of the sort. All of which were useless to them at the moment.

Still, Paul didn’t give up hope and urged the other two to walk around the store and look, so they did. Just as Brian saw, nothing but flour, shortening, and even scattered napkins throughout the shelves and floor. Hopelessness filled the bassist, until he could hear his friend shouting.

“Paul! Oh god, son you were right!” John shouted from the next aisle over. Paul excitedly ran over, Brian not too far behind.

“What did you find?” Paul asked, stopping at the edge of the aisle. Brian, almost bumping into Paul, stopped himself to look past Paul. The two men were perplexed by John standing in the middle of an aisle that clearly lacked any supplies. John, a grin on his face, speedily walked up to them.

“You were right, Paulie, this store has all the supplies we need!” John held up his hand to present a candy bar that showed signs of being stepped on multiple times. John cruelly laughed at how embarrassed and annoyed Paul became. Paul gave his friend a hard shove, and turned on his heels to move out to the cab.

“Let's go.” Paul muttered, stomping past their manager.

“Oh, come on ye fucking pussy! Can’t take a joke anymore?!”

“John, give it a rest.” Brian reprimanded.

“What? He wasted our time and I can’t even give him shit for it?!”

“Just…just please give it a rest.” Brian said, following Paul. John wanted to shout something to them, but held himself back. He stood there, holding the crushed candy bar and watching Paul and Brian exit the shop. He waited until the stood in front of the car to actually move. John sighed, dropping the candy bar, and giving it a small kick before going to catch up to the others.

 

\---

“What?” the drummer asked, voice beginning to falter and his throat going dry.

“Do you think I’m going to kill you?” the constable repeated one more time, except much more slowed down. He drew out every syllable as he spoke.

“No! Of course not!” Ringo said. What more could he say? That they didn’t trust him and thought that the second they did something wrong, they would be blown away? Ringo knew that was a terrible idea, anyone with common sense would.

“Then why do you act like I will?!”

“We're not!” The officer didn’t believe a single word that came out of Ringo’s mouth.

“No? You two are clinging to each other, ready to bolt up those stairs!”

“I told you, we just want to make sure nothing gets in through there!” Ringo reasoned, hoping that he sounded convincing. He held George’s wrist tighter, noticing how tense George was also becoming.

“Bullshit! You don’t trust me! NONE OF YOU DO! You think I’m some bastard who’s not gonna think twice about ripping you to shreds!” Constable Smith’s voice boomed, shaking the walls around them. Ringo could feel George’s entire body quake with fear. Ringo released George, stepping towards Constable Smith.

“We don’t! We honestly don’t!” George defended, his voice almost cracking.

“I was the _law_ , you know! I protected spoiled shits like you every DAY, and THIS is how I’m repaid?! To be treated like some fucking _criminal_?!” Constable Smith bellowed, spit flying everywhere, even hitting Ringo. This didn’t slow down Ringo’s pace, as he was still moving towards Smith.

“That’s not true, you’re being ridiculous.” he continued to take small footsteps toward the officer like he were an animal. George’s eyes shifted between Ringo and Smith, he prayed that the drummer knew what he was doing. Ringo placed his hands on the constable’s shoulders, giving him a pat.

“See? I wouldn’t stand this close if I didn’t think I could trust you.” he craned his neck to George, tilting his head in a way to call him over. George obliged, placing a hand on the constable’s shoulder as well. George noted how well Ringo hid his fear, and attempted to copy him by controlling his trembling hand. Constable Smith stood still, heavily breathing through his nostrils. He was like an angry bull, ready to charge and attack.

“Get off of me, you fucking poofs!” He threw his arms around in the air, thrashing them about, almost hitting George square in the jaw and Ringo in the eye. Without much choice, George and Ringo backed away from the officer. He stopped waving his arms around and stared at them. His short, dark hair was frazzled and sticking up in certain places, heavy bags under his eyelids became more noticeable, along with the incredibly dark rims around his eyes. He twitched once and tilted his head, a sickeningly loud crack could be heard, causing the boys to cringe.

“Don't play games with me, I don’t appreciate being toyed with.” Constable Smith warned, pushing his hair back. He violently scratched at the stubble that was starting to grow on his face until his cheek was red. Ringo stood close to George, and George made sure to keep close to him as the man before them became more and more terrifyingly unstable. Pulling on George’s sleeve cuff, Ringo led him to the stairway.

“We aren’t playing around. We are going upstairs to make sure nothing happens.” Ringo said for the final time before they moved up the steps.

“Go run and hide upstairs from the big, bad copper!” The musicians turned one more time to see his face. They were taken back when they saw that Smith’s face was not as rage filled as they thought. No, it had almost a saddened, yet paranoid look to it. Ringo and George took quicker steps, not taking another minute to look back.

 

\---

The cab carried on down the road, and for once it was completely quiet in the car. John had not uttered a word since their last stop. He decided that if Paul wanted to act like this, he’d let him until it was out of his system. John knew Paul would be back to his usual self soon, he always bounced back to it after one of his moods. So there was no point to pull anything on him to make him more moody, and just ride it out. However, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make himself just as distant.

Paul and Brian did most of the searching now, squinting and looking far ahead to find just about anything at this point. They couldn’t go back empty handed, they wouldn’t last much longer. At last, Brian's eye caught a glimpse of something in the distance that made him fill with relief. A supermarket.

“Boys, look, over here on the left! It’s a supermarket!” Brian called, the tip of his finger against the glass.

“You think there’s anything in there still?”

“There’s got to be, they couldn’t clean out a place that large yet.”

“I hope you’re right, Bri.” Paul said, turning into the parking lot. There were actually a few cars in the lot, either parked or stopped in random places. One was even turned over on its side with its door smashed in, and windows broken.

“Pull up near the front.” Brian instructed. “No need to walk a long way with our hands full.” Paul complied, parking the car right in front of the doors. Brian thanked the bassist and directed them to get out of the cab. Paul was the first to move, John had not yet.

“Are you coming?” asked Paul. John gave an indifferent hum and a “yeah,” but only moved his head. Paul's brow furrowed. “Fine. See you inside.” he snarled, slamming the door and treaded into the store entrance.

Brian stayed behind with John. “What are you doing, John?”

John shrugged. “He wants to act like a prick, he can, but I’m not gonna give him more fuel.”

“But you are just by doing whatever this is!”

“Whatever, Eppy, why do you care so fucking much?” John slouched over, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“Because we don’t have time for this!” Brian hissed.

“Paul clearly does.” John scoffed.

“Stop joking around! This isn’t a damn joke, John!” Brian retorted, his voice rising to a higher volume.

“Alright, Bri calm the fuck down!”

“No, I can’t calm the fuck down! You need to listen to me for once! This is serious, we could all DIE! Do you understand?!” Brian lashed out, almost jumping into the backseat.

“I get it, do you think I don’t know that?!” John asked, becoming more defensive.

“Well you haven’t shown it! Nothing you’ve done has shown me that in anyway! You almost got yourself killed by that constable because you had to run your mouth, for God’s sake! Maybe Smith was right.” John perked up from his slouch at the mention of the constable’s name.

“What about Smith??”

“He said you don’t respect me, and you know what? He was right! Not only do you not respect me, but you don’t even respect your bandmates!”

“I do!”

“You don’t! If you did, you wouldn’t be pushing them away! We need to keep together, but you’re just forcing them all away, and I don’t want to see that!!” Brian yelled, tears forming in his eyes, but not falling. John wanted to retort with something, but decided against it. His features softened at the sight of his stressed manager. He didn’t want to drive everyone away, they were like his family. For crying out loud, he was in love with Paul, he didn’t want to lose him over something stupid.

“Eppy," John paused, "I'm sorry." he finally said. Brian took a minute to respond, registering what John just told him.

“What?” Brian asked, almost in shock.

“I'm sorry for being an arse. I don’t want us all to split up, you know how I can get sometimes. I’m sorry, Eppy.” John looked to the floor, not noticing Brian’s weak smile before putting one arm around him for a short hug. Brian didn’t say anything, but John knew that he accepted his apology.

An unexpected shriek then pierced the moment they were once having. There was no doubt that it was Paul’s, the sound of other voices could be heard as well. The voices were loud and hostile, almost wild. The multiple voices seemed to overpower Paul's cry as he could no longer be heard. John and Brian weren’t sure if they were the voices of infected or not, but either way they knew they had no time to waste. They jumped out of the car, and sprinted to the building, hoping it wasn’t too late.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so here's a chapter before I start class! Now since class is starting, it may take longer for the story to update (or it may not, we'll see), but I will try to get a new chapter out after this when I can! Thanks so much for the support for this story!

Another scream from Paul could be heard over the commotion inside the supermarket, which only made John and Brian move faster. The two men held onto their weapons, Brian held his lower, John had his over his shoulder. The voices became louder, telling them that they weren’t too far away, and that it couldn’t be too far in the store. They prayed that they weren’t too late to stop whatever was happening to the bassist. John especially hoped, not wanting their heated interaction to be their final one. He couldn’t have it end on such a sour note, he just couldn’t. They burst through the doors and instantly spotted a small group of four people in the darkened market, clearly not infected but still seeming just as dangerous. They were holding a struggling, panicked Paul down.

“I got his weapon!” an unknown woman shouted.

“I got his arms!” a man could now be heard.

“I got his legs!” said another woman.

“Hold him still!” shouted a different man. John trudged forward with Brian hurrying alongside him.

“You lot best not have any of him unless you really don’t want yer hands anymore!” John yelled with a stomp, causing everyone to go silent. All of their heads turned and their eyes were on him. Paul even looked over at him too, pure relief on his face. John and Brian examined the people before them. There was a lanky woman holding onto Paul’s axe, her hair was red and curly, and her face slim. A blonde woman with her hands on Paul’s legs, she had a much rounder face and body, bright, blue eyes, and a dirtied, white dress that reached her ankles. A short, stout man standing next to the three with light brown hair that went past his shoulders, an almost rounder face than the woman before, and a black shirt tucked into dark jeans. Then there was an average sized man with black hair, dark eyes, and an angular, sharp face. Each of them were as primal and dirty as the next, and looked ready to pounce. Brian was obviously nervous, but John refused to show any weakness, and stood high.

“Put him down.” John said, showing no emotion in his words.

“Why should we listen to you?” the short man asked, walking up closer to John. He puffed out his chest to appear tougher, but John only countered by mirroring him. “Not a bear, son. I ain’t exactly gonna run away scared ‘cause you make yourself seem bigger.”

“Answer the question.” he stated firmly, not deflating his chest for a moment, and staring John dead in the eyes.

“Well for starters, we don’t exactly look like we’ve been raised by wolves.” John said, only to be lightly slapped by Brian. The shorter man was not humored by John’s little stab towards them.

“No more jokes! We aren’t afraid to kill the people we can’t trust!” the short man called, beckoning the red head who still held the axe in her hands. The lady squinted, only to gasp. She looked back at Paul, then back to John her vision clouded by the moment seemingly faded.

“Maxwell, do you know who they are?!” she asked the small man.

“That's Paul and John, you know, from The Beatles?!”

“That pop group?” Maxwell guessed, which was met by the woman nodding. “Should I care?” the blonde woman took a closer look at the man she was holding and squealed with joy.

“The Beatles?? My little sister loves them!!” the blonde lady said with excitement, giving a hop that shook Paul a little.

“Yes, that’s right.” Brian interrupted. “I'm their manager, Brian Epstein. I can assure you, we mean no harm. We were simply searching for supplies and thought that no one would be here.” he held his hand out for a handshake. Maxwell hesitantly shook his hand, looking Brian up and down.

“If you mean no harm,” Maxwell began, “drop your weapons.” Brian's eyes shifted to John.

“We'd prefer not to until we are sure it’s safe.” Brian spoke.

“And we’d prefer to kill you on sight for trespassing, but since your such celebrities we are giving you a chance to prove yourself. And you're already messing it up.” “Last I checked this isn’t your territory. It’s a public supermarket.” John pointed out.

“That may be true in a normal circumstance, but this isn't exactly normal anymore, now is it?” the small man said, arrogantly. “Now I’ll say it again, drop your weapons, or we’ll have to act a bit drastic.” he warned, taking the axe from the red haired woman. He waved it in front of the two, getting a little too close to John.

“We'll drop ours if you drop the axe.” Brian negotiated.

“Alright, fine, put yours down with me.” They did so, slowly lowering their weapons to the tiled floor simultaneously with Maxwell. John and Brian kept their eyes on the shorter man as he put the weapon down equally as slow as them. Maxwell watched them closely as the axe fell from his hands with a small clang, and their weapons were placed down carefully. “Good, now keep your hands where we can see them and follow us. You can leave your weapons there, no one will take them. You won’t need them, after all.”

“Could you then release our friend too?” Brian indicated Paul, still being held by the other two survivors. Maxwell looked back and nodded, allowing them to drop Paul. He quickly rose to his feet, still shaken. He wiped the sleeves of his shirt of any dirt that was collected. The blonde woman then grabbed Paul’s hand and gave it a shake. She was almost shouting as she spoke to him.

“I'm Loretta, my sister just adores you!” she said again, just as excited as she first was.

“Yeah, I-er- heard.” Paul answered, awkwardly. He wanted to take his hand back, but her hold on him was too tight.

“She saw you live, you know?”

“Oh?” Paul tried to seem interested to avoid more trouble. He put on an expression that showed great interest, even though he hoped she would leave him be.

“Yeah, she actually saw you when…” her voice trailed off as her face paled. “When this all started…” Memories rushed back to Paul of the first time they came to encounter the infected. The fear and confusion that was with them that time suddenly returned. John, who heard her, even became reminded and his face went grim. Paul swallowed hard and began biting his thumbnail.

“I'm sorry.” Paul stated. She gave him a kind smile.

“Don't be, she’s here in the store. She’s gonna be so happy to see you two!” she did another excited jump before her smile faded. “But weren’t there two others? They didn’t…you know…?” Paul immediately shook his head.

“Oh no, no they’re keeping watch with uh- a friend- at where we’ve been taking shelter.”

“Yeah, a good friend is with them.” John snorted. Loretta's smile returned.

“Well, at least she’ll get to meet you two.”

“Where is she?” Paul questioned, peering around.

“Oh, she’s in the back with a few others.” said Loretta with a small wave.

“There are more?”

“Yeah, do you really think it’s only is in this big place?” Maxwell asked.

“You'll have to meet them.” the other man said.

“Yes, and my boys will, but first we need a favor.” Brian said.

“And just what exactly is that?” Maxwell raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“Well, we are seriously low on supplies, and will run out soon. Is there a chance that we could take some food and water with us since it’s such a large place?” Brian requested, putting on his best smile to hope persuade him.

Maxwell hummed and scratched his nose. “I don’t know. How do we know that you won’t take more than what you need. You know, we need to live too.” he pointed out with a hint of snark in his tone.

“We realize this,” Brian told him, “but I’m sure you could spare just a little. We won’t take too much, just something, please.” Brian pleaded, not trying to come off as too desperate, but not indifferent either.

“Oh, give them something, Maxwell.” Loretta called, winking to Paul.

“What do you think, Eleanor?”

The red head shrugged. “They seem trustworthy enough.”

“Billy?” the dark haired man also agreed with the two ladies.

Maxwell sighed. “Fine, you can have some supplies.”

“Thank you, my boys and I greatly appreciate it.” Brian thanked him.

“But you guys need to come meet the others.” Loretta added. “Remember my sister?” she held Paul's hand, suddenly gripping it tightly. Paul nodded and pulled his hand back.

“We can say hi, but we really need to go after that.” Paul told her. She agreed, taking his hand back in hers and pulling him along. John hid a small laugh and nudged Brian, he didn’t seem too entertained by that. The others began to head back with Loretta and Paul, with John and Brian still standing in their place. They wanted to move, but something in their guts told them not to.

“You coming?” Maxwell asked, the guitarist and manager, with an exchanged glance, finally followed.

 

\---

George shut the door behind them, making sure to lock it. He rubbed his neck, then ran his fingers through his brown hair. Ringo wanted to talk about what they just saw, but didn’t know how to start. All he knew was that they were both equally creeped out by Constable Smith’s facial expression and words. George strode past the drummer to take a seat on the edge of the bed. His head was in his hands. He heavily sighed, wanting to get the image of the officer out. Ringo also sat down, rubbing a circle on George’s lower back.

“It's gonna be alright, Geo.”

“How do you know?” George mumbled, two fingers on each hand rubbing his eyes. Ringo saw how the circles under George’s eyes had become darker, much like Smith. He was sure he looked no better, they were all suffering from the effects of sleep deprivation. Ringo put his arm around George’s slumped shoulders, pulling him closer. He pressed his lips to George’s cheek, giving him a comforting kiss.

“I don’t, but I’ve got the feeling it will.” he combed his fingers through George’s hair.

“Did you see his face?” George asked, his face still buried.

“I-I saw.” Ringo said, stuttering at first. He couldn’t get the look of the constable out of his mind even if he tried. The absolute saddened, broken, yet crazed look in his face was just as terrifying as when he was angry.

“Do you think we did that?” George asked almost as if he were in pain as he spoke.

“What?”

“Do you think we drove him to this? Is it our fault he’s lost his mind?” Ringo held him closer, not sure what to say. At first, he wanted to brush off George’s question as a result of a lack of sleep, but it actually made him think about it. He didn’t want to, but began to consider that maybe they did have a hand in some way. The way they talked to him and treated him as, Smith described it, a criminal. Ringo remembered how it all seemed to go downhill when John spoke to him, calling him out on running away. Could that have all driven him to near insanity?

“I…I don’t know, Geo, but even if we did have a hand, this pandemic had a big effect too.” Ringo tried to comfort George. He didn’t want to see George fall back into the self blame he was stuck in with Pattie. George shook his head.

“We're in the same situation, but we’re not like that. What makes us special??” George asked, refusing to believe that they weren’t a major cause for Smith’s crumbling sanity.

“Well, we’ve got each other, and he doesn’t have anyone. That really wears on the mind more than being with people, even if they’re a pain in the arse.” Ringo put on a small smile, noticing that even the corners of George’s mouth tugged a little.

“I feel bad for him.” the younger guitarist admitted. “He's alone and all. Then on top of it, he’s got us getting on him.”

“That’s true, but that doesn’t give him the right to talk down and belittle us. Does it?”

George shook his head. “No, but it’s sad to think that he’s got no one at all. I can’t help but think he’s not completely in the wrong sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s in the right completely either. He made the decision to be on his own.” Ringo said.

“If you ask me, no one’s in the right.”

“I think you may be right.”

“Were you not listening to me?” George replied, pretending to be angry. Ringo chuckled, placing another soft kiss to George’s cheek. Then another kiss on his jawline, and continuing up to his ear. The drummer took George’s earlobe between his teeth, lightly nibbling on the flesh. George hummed, his eyes fluttering shut as he gave a small giggle.

“Hmm...Ritchie, please.” Ringo grinned, continuing lower to his neck. George softly groaned and craned his neck to give more access. Ringo slowly unbuttoned George’s shirt, enjoying the reaction he got when he decided to suck on the guitarist’s neck. A few more buttons were popped open, exposing more of the guitarist’s chest. He was about to slip his fingers under the fabric of the shirt, but suddenly pulled back.

“Why’d you stop?” George whined, grasping Ringo’s hand.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” Ringo told his bandmate. George questioned why the drummer felt that way, attempting to put his hand back into place. Ringo pulled his hand away from tempting boy again with a shake of his head.

“The constable is right downstairs. What if he hears?” Ringo worriedly asked.

“That didn’t stop us before.” George said. “Besides, I’ve locked the door.”

“But everyone was here, it’s different. Not as much distraction as before. He’ll be more likely to hear, don’t you think?”

“What if we just keep quiet?” George suggested, brushing his lips against Ringo’s ear, making him shudder. George’s breath tickled him, and built up more lust for the guitarist. Ringo could feel arousal stirring in his crotch, a tingling spreading through his body. He tried to fight the feeling, but it was too strong.

“We'll keep quiet?” Ringo managed to ask in a shuddering gasp.

“As quiet as we can.” George whispered, his finger tracing Ringo’s jaw. Ringo wanted to resist, but he was too caught up in everything. His senses were incredibly heightened, and could feel every little touch from his bandmate. Wanting to reciprocate the affection, Ringo wanted to put his hands back on George. He wanted more of the pleasure he had received before, even if the risk of being caught was possible. Though, he was comforted with the thought that George did lock the door, so if anything they would hear a knock as a warning to stop. Ringo looked up at George, who had been watching him expectantly. George raised his bushy eyebrows, waiting for an answer from his friend.

“Come here, Geo.” Ringo wrapped his arms around George’s neck, pulling him down to his face. He pressed his lips to George’s and pushed him into the mattress, giving into his desire. George happily went along with it, kissing back, forcefully pushing his tongue through the drummer’s lips to meet with his. Their tongues slid together, tasting each other’s saliva. George couldn’t help holding the back of Ringo’s head, keeping their mouths close. Ringo finally broke the kiss, sitting up, and straddled his friend under him. George slid his hands along Ringo’s thighs, traveling up to cup the drummer’s bum, and giving a hard squeeze. Ringo yelped in surprise, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth.

“What happened to being quiet?” George asked with a laugh. Ringo quickly shushed him by putting his lips right back on George’s.

 

\---

John, Paul, and Brian walked with the group to the back of the supermarket. John had to admit that he was impressed by how organized everything still seemed to be. Shelves weren’t turned over, nor were there many messes. No spilled food or liquids that they had to step over, not even blood. As nice as it was, it was also suspicious. How exactly did they manage to keep it so well kept? There would have had to have been an infected that got in at least once. John stuck with their manager, who had been dragging behind everyone else. Brian wasn’t so quick to become too close to the strangers. He was grateful for what they were doing for them, but that didn’t mean he automatically trusted them with his life. They already made the mistake of trusting the constable, and that didn’t work out in their favor. So while he didn’t totally trust them, he knew it was for the best that he and his boys do as they want until they got what they needed.

“So why exactly is your sister in the back?” Paul suddenly asked Loretta. She turned to him with a smile.

“She has to stay there with the others.” she cheerfully answered.

“But why?” Paul persisted.

“You'll see soon enough.” Billy cut in, clearly wanting Paul to stop asking about it.

“What does that mean?” Paul asked, feeling more concerned. “Are they hurt?” John wanted to run up to Paul and shut him up, seeing the faces of Billy and Maxwell growing extremely annoyed.

“It means you’ll see soon enough, pretty boy.” Maxwell then said with a slight snarl. Maxwell took a step to the front of the group as they finally reached the back. There was a door in front, most likely leading to a room for employees to go to. He presented a key and unlocked the door. Paul, still on edge about what might be wrong with Loretta’s sister and whoever else was with them, looked back at John and Brian. John shrugged while Brian rubbed the back of his neck. As Maxwell turned the doorknob, a horrible sound shattered their ear drums. It was a noise the musicians and their manager knew too well. It was the sickening screech of an infected, and it was right behind that door with the other survivors.


	17. Chapter 17

The growls and screeches from behind the door shook the three, but seemed to have no effect on everyone else. They all stood there unmoving and calm, even Maxwell, who just unlocked the door, didn’t step back. His eyes wandered back, moving slowly between Brian, John, and Paul. Paul shifted his weight foot to foot, mindlessly biting on the nail on his middle finger. This was a bad idea, he decided. They should have left the second they were told to leave their weapons, but they needed food so bad. They weren’t thinking clearly, now they would have to deal with it. Paul turned his head to John, wishing he was back there with him and Brian. He wanted to be where he felt safe, and that definitely wasn’t stuck in the middle of this group of people. It was near John, no matter how much he hurt him before. He’d rather feel the pain from John, rather than the fear he was feeling at that moment.

“John-“ Paul made the effort to make his way to John, away from these people. But when he moved his feet, he was pulled back into his place. He saw that Loretta was firmly holding his hand again, making sure he wouldn’t leave her side.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I-I was just going to tell John something real quick.” Paul pointed to the two men in the back.

“But you need to stay here. She always said you were her favorite Beatle.” a wide smile spread on her face, exposing her teeth. “I want her to see you. She’s going to be so happy.” Paul became wide eyed, not able to think of anything to say. He displayed an uncomfortable smile, with his other hand on her’s, hoping she would release her grip. Loretta only kept her hold more.

“Guess we should quit with the suspense and get on with it, eh?” asked Maxwell, turning the knob. Paul only tried to pull himself free more, like an animal with its foot in a trap. Wildly pulling, with no chance of avoiding what was to come.

“Hold on, just what the bleeding hell is this?! Are you fucking with us?!” John yelled to Maxwell, pushing Billy and Eleanor aside. The two glared and shoved John back with all their strength.

“Don’t ever touch us.” warned Billy, not breaking his glare. “We aren’t fucking with anyone, so you better keep that mouth shut.”

“Don’t talk like that in front of thee others.” Eleanor said. “You know how they can get when feeling threatened.”

“Can we hurry up??” Loretta began to sound impatient, her voice bordering a whine. “I don’t want to keep her waiting!”

“Alright, alright calm your tits.” Maxwell turned the knob and nonchalantly opened the door, despite the terrible sounds growing louder.

“You’re going to make her so happy.” Loretta cheerfully said, looking straight into Paul’s eyes. Paul swallowed hard, wishing he could run away. His heart stopped when he looked beyond the doorway into the room.

 

\---

“Fucking hell…” George mumbled, keeping his voice down as the drummer gave a light suck on the tip of George’s dick. The two boys, now completely naked, were on the bed. Their clothes dropped and piled right next to the bed for easier access just in case they needed to dress quickly. Ringo sat between George’s spread legs. His lips wrapped around his completely hard cock. He could feel his own painful erection as he sucked George, precum dripping onto his tongue, and sliding down his throat. Pushing his head down, Ringo took more of George down his throat, trying his hardest not to gag. George, unable to help himself, thrusted up into Ringo’s mouth. Ringo quickly pulled back, coughing and sputtering. George apologized profusely as his bandmate wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s fine.” Ringo stammered, moving back to working on the young guitarist’s cock. His tongue swiped across the slit, another thrust from George. Ringo pulled his head back again.

“You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want, you know?” George pointed out. Ringo refused to stop, holding George’s hips down in place to keep him from moving again. Before George knew what was happening, Ringo licked a stripe up the underside. George bit his lip and gripped the sheets, wanting more. Ringo took his dick back into his warm mouth, giving a light, teasing suck. He could feel George’s hips attempting to move under his grip while he began to bob his head. Fingers grabbed  and pulled on his hair, urging him to keep going. George panted and attempted to not make any noise, he could tell George was close.

“Ritchie, wait.” George said, pushing Ringo away.

“What’s wrong?” Ringo wondered.

“I want…” George mumbled, becoming flustered at what he was about to say.

“What?” he quietly asked, moving closer to the guitarist's face.

“I want you inside.” George answered, hiding his red face out of embarrassment. Ringo, as turned on as he was, had to shake his head.

“We haven’t got anything to use. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t care, use your spit. It can’t be that bad.” Ringo shook his head again, he remembered hearing Brian discuss this. Without any type of lubricant, it hurts too much. You need some form of preparation, or it’s not even enjoyable.

“Ritchie, come on, please I need you.” George begged, skinny fingers running up the drummer’s arm. His brown eyes shined with lust. Ringo sighed, he couldn’t say no when George knew exactly how to push him. He gasped as George took his hand, sticking his middle finger in his mouth. Ringo felt George’s rubbery tongue wrapping around the finger, wetting it.

“Maybe these people had some condoms.” Ringo said with another shaky gasp. “Check the bedside drawer.” George released his finger with a pop and did so. He rummaged through until eventually snagging something near the bottom. He pulled out the wrapped condom with a victorious grin.

“Guess we’re lucky we stayed here where these randy bastards were.” George said, handing the condom to Ringo.

“Yeah, could have gotten stuck in a nunnery.” Ringo snorted, ripping open the packaging. He rolled the latex onto his hard cock as George watched eagerly.

“Come on, quit stalling, Ritch!”

“Quiet, love, remember we’re not alone. Anyways I’ve got to prepare you a little, don’t you think?”

“I suppose…” George blushed. “Should I turn around…?”

“No, I wanna see your face.” He allowed Ringo push him flat on his back, his head resting on the pillow.  The drummer originally went to push two fingers into his mouth when George stopped him. The younger guitarist held his hand close to his face.

“Let me.” George took not one, but two of Ringo’s fingers into his mouth to wet them. Ringo couldn’t help but moan as he felt the familiar feeling of George’s tongue sliding between his fingers. He pulled his fingers out, gently pushing Georges knees apart to reveal his puckered hole. A spit-coated finger circled the rim, causing George to twitch with anticipation. He continued to lightly trace the area, loving George's needy whimpers.

“Ready?” George quickly nodded, quietly begging him to go ahead. Hesitantly, Ringo began to push one finger in. A hiss escaped George’s lips, his eyes squeezed shut as he bared his teeth. He clenched around Ringo’s finger, making it impossible to move it in the tightness. Ringo placed his other hand on George’s stomach, lightly rubbing.

“You’ve got to relax, Georgie. Just breathe, I won’t do anything else until you’ve relaxed.” George wriggled, and tried to control his breathing, taking steady breaths. Sweat beads formed on his brow as he pressed his lips together to keep from making any noise. It wasn’t exactly ideal to have the constable downstairs wonder just what is exactly causing such noises. It certainly wouldn’t also be ideal to have to explain it either. With a bit more squirming and adjusting, George finally relaxed his muscles a little. When he was sure of it, Ringo pushed his finger in further, curling it and massaging the inner walls. George, biting back a groan, pushed himself on his finger in an attempt to fuck himself on it. Ringo got the hint and began moving the finger in and out of George’s hole. He could feel him loosening up with every movement.

“Another.” George weakly demanded, it coming out as more of a whine.

“You sure?”

“Please.” Not arguing about it, Ringo inserted another finger into his bandmate. His fingers moved in a scissoring motion, stretching his bandmate. George’s legs spread even wider, desperately needing Ringo’s cock inside him. He thrusted his hips up, begging for Ringo to put it in him already. Ringo licked his lips as he watched the needy guitarist whine and beg. He wanted nothing more than to bury his cock into George’s tightness. He wanted to feel George squeezing his prick so badly, he was practically losing it. Removing his fingers, the excited drummer lined up his dick with George’s entrance. He asked if George was ready, if he thought he was prepared enough, but George gave no verbal answer. He only wrapped his thin legs around Ringo’s torso, pulling him closer. That was all he needed and pressed the tip into him. George threw his head back, lips pressed together as he gripped the sheets. George allowed Ringo to slide his cock inside painfully slow until he fully sheathed him. George absolutely loved the feeling of his friend inside of him. The feeling of his hard, pulsating dick made him hold the drummer between his legs tighter. George held his dick in one hand as Ringo fucked him, wanking himself off.

“Move, Ritch…” George whimpered. He did so, moving his hips at a steady rate, trying his best not to hurt his friend. George gasped lightly with each thrust inside him, getting closer to climaxing. Ringo truly gave an effort to stay at a slow rate for George, but realized it was hopeless when he felt his own orgasm approaching. His slow, steady pace became quicker and sloppy. Not that George was complaining while he bit back his own sounds all while taking in the small grunts he could hear Ringo making. This only made him jerk himself off faster.

“I’m almost there, Ritchie.” George squeezed the base of his own cock as he spoke with a shaky, hushed voice. The drummer pushed himself fully into George again, his eyes shutting for a brief moment. He looked down at George, watching him squirm as he opened himself up just for Ringo. His face was completely red with sweat droplets starting to run down, and his sharp teeth biting into his lip. The sight was so beautiful, yet erotic at the same time.

“I am too.” Ringo said, angling his next thrusts and hitting George’s prostate. George’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull in pleasure as the drummer kept hitting that exact spot. His muscles clenching down on his prick, pushing Ringo over the edge. He pushed inside especially hard that time as he came, causing George to spasm from the pleasure. George gave one last tug on his dick before climaxing. However, he seemed to have forgotten his current circumstance and didn’t bother to hold back.

“FUCK!” he jerked upwards, hitting his head against headboard as he came over himself. It was only until the two spent boys heard the echo of the loud bang, did they realize what just happened. George froze, staring up at Ringo with frightened eyes.

“Shit.” George mumbled. “Shit, shit, shit, Ritch.”  George began to panic. Had the constable heard? George was sure of it.

“George calm down.” Ringo told him. “Just keep quiet for a second, maybe Smith didn’t even hear us. After all, he might have taken a nap or something.” his hopes were quickly extinguished when he heard a familiar voice and footsteps coming up the stairs.

“What’s going on up here?!” the constable’s voice rang out. He sounded close enough to be just outside the door.

“Shit...” the two whispered simultaneously.

 

\---

The door rattled as it opened, only to reveal something Paul wished he had not seen. The origin of the growls were finally clear. Inside were four snarling, vicious infected. Foam dripped and puddled from their mouths onto the floor, so much so that they were practically bathing in it. Their red, bloodshot eyes, yellow teeth, blackened gums, and greying skin was all Paul could look at. Clearly John saw past everyone to see just what Paul had seen as he began to shout.

“What the fuck are ye just standing there for?! Those things will fucking kill you!!” he bellowed, trying to push through the group to get to Paul, only to be pushed back again.

“I thought I said to never touch us.” Billy stated darkly.

“Yes, and John would respect that if there weren’t infected right there!” Brian cut in, pulling John by the wrist get farther from the door. “Shouldn’t you be worrying about your friends? Loretta’s sister??”

“My sister is fine, all of them are!” Loretta shot.

“W-where are they?” Paul asked, wanting to move, but couldn’t.

“They’re right there!” Loretta said, pointing to the group of infected right inside the room.

“What the hell are you all on?!” John didn’t try to push through, but he made sure to keep his eyes on Loretta as she squeezed Paul’s hand. “They’re infected!”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not still them!” Maxwell yelled to the back.

“It’s not! When a person turns, they’re not that person anymore! They’re fucking beasts, they’ll tear ye to shreds if they have the chance!” John could feel Brian hold him tighter, trying to tell him to stop talking. He couldn’t though, they were putting all of them, especially Paul in danger. He could see Paul squirming, trying to get away, and he wanted nothing more than to save him.

“What do you know?! Those are our friends in there!” Eleanor said. “They were with us through this whole thing! They just ended up getting infected!”

“They’re not your friends anymore!! The only thing that may make them different is that the haven’t come running toward us yet!”

“We’ve actually had to tie them down.” Maxwell told John, still with such a calm tone. Paul looked over Maxwell to notice the bright red collars and leashes under a refrigerator with other heavy items on top holding them back. Paul thought of rabid dogs caught by animal control. They pulled and yanked at the collars to no avail.

“Oh, well I’ve been daft!” John smacked his forehead. “If you have to tie someone down to keep them from attacking you, of COURSE it’s still them!” Brian shook John, seeing all eyes were now on them, and they weren’t exactly enjoying John’s mocking. Loretta’s round face was beginning to turn red, and eyes seemed to burn with contempt. She yanked the bassist forward to the door entrance. He kept his feet planted, funny enough it resembled a dog being pulled on its leash by its owner.

“They may not be totally here right now, but help is on the way. The Americans are coming, it said so on the tele. They’ll bring a cure, and everything will be fine.” Maxwell said, completely deep in denial just like the others. Brian remembered what Constable Smith said. The Americans were supposedly send help, but Brian honestly couldn’t believe it either. Where were they if that was the case? It’s been days and there hasn’t been a single sign of them yet. It was only empty hope that these survivors carried, but he didn’t dare say it aloud. Not when they had four tied up infected right there.

Loretta roughly pulled Paul again, this time actually moving him. “Come on! She talked so much about hoping to meet you at the concert, she even wore her Paul shirt for you! She was almost trampled to death when everyone panicked, but she stayed to make sure you were okay!”

“Loretta, please, I can’t go in there! They’ll infect me, you know they will!” Paul babbled as Eleanor and Billy pushed him from behind. That was the last straw for John, he grabbed the red head by the arm, easily throwing her to the side. He didn’t have time to see her fall as Billy’s fist connected with his cheek, knocking him to the ground. John bit the inside of his cheek, ripping it open and causing blood to dribble from his lip and stain his teeth. The infected only seemed to go crazier, heads jerking violently, launching the thick foam everywhere. Brian crouched down to check on John. He wiped away some of the blood on his chin, asking if he was

“Stop fighting! Is this how you want your fan to see you, Paul? As a crying baby??” Maxwell jeered, holding the door open.

“Stop this! Can’t you see this is insane?!” Brian couldn’t help yelling over them as he was still on the ground with John.

“You want insane? Fine!” Loretta shoved Paul into the room with Maxwell shutting the door behind him.

“YOU STUPID BITCH!” John jumped to his feet to lunge towards her. Billy and Maxwell went to hold John back by his arms. “YOU'RE GONNA KILL HIM, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!”

“He’ll be fine. My sister would never hurt Paul!” Loretta defended, causing John to continue raging.

“That’s not your sister for God’s sake!! Don’t you fucking get it?!” John opened his mouth to scream again, but realized that he couldn’t hear Paul. Brian stepped forward, listening closely.

Paul’s face pressed against the floor. He groaned from the pain of hitting the hard floor until he remembered what was happening. He quickly hurried to his feet as the horrible smell of blood and dead flesh attacked his senses. He pressed himself against the door, frightfully staring at the disgusting creatures. They were even worse up close, he especially couldn’t take his eyes off of the one he assumed to be Loretta’s sister. Her long, blonde hair was caked with blood and foam, her nails jagged, and her shirt with, ‘I LOVE PAUL’ on it was ripped and dirty. They all swiped and attempted to leap onto him, hoping to get a bite of him. Paul noticed that they were actually beginning to move the refrigerator that was holding their leashes. He banged his fists on the door wildly, he had to get out.

“PLEASE LET ME OUT!! THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME, LET ME OUT!!” he screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks. He heard the squeaking of the refrigerator sliding on the floor, which only fueled his panic. Tremors shook through his body, he could feel them getting closer by the second.

John and Brian heard Paul’s shrieks, and knew there wasn’t much time. John shook the two men off of him and ran for the door. Billy and Maxwell attempted to stop him, but Maxwell was taken by surprise as Brian body slammed him to the ground. Maxwell grabbed onto Billy’s arm, bringing him down with him. Eleanor went to help the two, but was dragged into the scuffle on the floor with Brian fighting against the three.

John rushed to the door that held a still screaming Paul behind it, and a furious Loretta in front. Her arms were outspread and tears were forming in her eyes.

“Don’t you DARE ruin this for her!! All she wanted was to meet Paul!!”

“She’s about to meet me too!” John pushed her to the side, not caring about whether he had hurt her or not. Throwing open the door, he was quickly met by Paul wrapping his arms around his neck. He held him tightly, tears wetting John’s neck. The door slammed behind them as Paul tried forming a single sentence.

“John…John…”

“Macca, it’s alright they can’t get you out here.”

“John, they’re pulling themselves free! I could almost feel them!”

“They can’t be getting free, the refrigerator and any other heavy appliances were stacked on top. They were never that strong.” Maxwell argued, pulling out of the mess on the floor. A loud crash was suddenly heard from behind the door, a scratching against the door followed, the scratching then turned to slamming. It wouldn’t be long until those things were free.

“We have to go.” John said, backing away from the door, arms protectively around Paul. Brian pushed Billy and Eleanor away and began to crawl from them. John went over to pull him to his feet.

“Stop! Why are you leaving so soon?! You didn’t even give her a chance!!” Loretta sobbed.

“We need to leave, they’re going to get out and attack us all!” Brian shouted in alarm as the three moved backwards, watching the survivors. Billy and Eleanor picked themselves off the ground and looked to each other, then to Maxwell. Their stone faces became filled with doubt and terror as the door was beginning to come loose.

“Maybe we do need to go…” Eleanor mumbled.

“NO!! YOU’RE LETTING THEM GET TO YOU! THEY’RE FOOLING YOU, DON’T YOU SEE?!!”

“Loretta, please, maybe…maybe they’re right.” Eleanor began to say. Maxwell and Billy chose not to insert any commentary; neither did the three men.

“Shut up! They’re our _friends_ , remember?! Or did you already forget?!”

“No, just listen, I’m starting to think we’re not safe-“

“We ARE! They would never hurt us! Especially not my sister, and I’ll prove it now!!” Loretta took the door knob and gave it a hard twist.

“DON’T!!” Paul shouted, hoping she wouldn’t do what he knew she would. This didn’t stop her as she swung the door open and was immediately tackled by none other than her infected sister. Her sister’s hands pressed against her face, forcing her down.

“What are you doing?? It’s me, Loretta!! _IT’S ME_ -“ Loretta was cut short by her sister’s fingers being pushed into her mouth to hold her jaws open. She gurgled and released the foam into Loretta’s mouth as she squirmed and fought, even though it was much too late. It wasn’t too long until the other threw hurried out of the room, each releasing a screech. Eleanor cried out loudly in terror, beginning to run away, but ultimately tackled to the ground. The infected held her, sinking its teeth into her neck, spraying warm blood everywhere. 

“NOO!” Billy wailed as he held onto the creature, trying to throw it off his friend. “GET THE FUCK OFF OF HER! STOP!!” one of the other infected quickly attacked him from behind, biting into his neck as well. The infected brought him down, pinning him as well. Soon all three of them would be infected, and John decided that he didn’t want to stick around to watch.

“COME ON!” John yanked Paul and Brian along. Paul reached out, grabbing the fabric of Maxwell’s shirt, forcing him to come with them. John released them as they ran, taking different turns through aisles hoping to throw the infected creatures off. Paul, Brian, and Maxwell ran ahead of John, who was guarding the back. The noises from the infected were growing closer, heavy footsteps echoed throughout the store. Paul’s heart beat in his ears, and he felt as though he were about to throw up, still he kept running alongside Maxwell and Brian.

They eventually reached the front of the store, relief coursed through them, especially Paul. He turned to watch as John held his jacket closed and ran ahead of him. Brian and John hadn’t stopped running until they were right at the entrance. Paul was about to move again until he noticed that Maxwell had stopped in his place and stared ahead. Paul realized that he was beginning to walk back into the store, back to those things.

“What are you doing??”

“Going to them.”

“Don’t you understand?! They’ll _kill_ you!”

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you come with us??” Paul didn’t understand. This man was willingly allowing himself to be with them, knowing fully well that he was going to die.

Maxwell shook his head, watching the horde of them begin to appear and come closer. He turned to Paul with a chilling, yet emotionless stare before speaking.

“What would you do?” Paul didn’t know how to respond, but could only watch as Maxwell sprinted towards his former friends, allowing them to surround them and swallow him into their group. He didn’t even utter a scream as they tore at him. Paul stared, jaw open and unmoving. A tug finally pulled him, it was John, with one hand holding his wrist, the other around his middle.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Come one!” Paul didn’t think twice and ran with John to catch up with their manager. He only look back once to see the large shadow of the group, all now infected in the distance. The three men rushed to the cab, with Brian fumbling with the keys before finally starting the car. He stepped on the gas, not caring which way they were going as long as it was away from there. Thunder began to rumble as they did so, but the men hardly noticed as they were still shaken about what had just happened. As they drove away from the supermarket, John began to open his jacket.

“Hey Eppy, Macca, look what I’ve got.” John said, showing off a small loaf of bread and a couple bags of cereal.

“How did you get that?” Brian asked, pleasantly surprised.

“While we were running. All that time nicking records from shops finally paid off.” John laughed.

"Well, the others will be glad we didn't just come back with nothing." Brian said, turning back to watch the road.

Macca, I can't believe you didn't grab anything, I thought I taught you better, son." John joked with no response given.

He looked back to Paul who was zoned out and staring out of the window. He couldn’t stop thinking about Maxwell, about his final words that still rang in his mind.

“ _What would you do?”_


	18. Chapter 18

George and Ringo, not knowing what to do, stayed frozen in place. The constable’s heavy footsteps could now be heard on the floor, near the door. Ringo quickly pulled out of George, but didn’t move off of the bed. They both knew the door was locked, but that still gave off too much suspicion. Even if they weren’t in such a position, it was obvious that Constable Smith wouldn’t take too lightly to having the door locked on him. Just another sign of showing just how they thought of him.

  
George held onto his bandmate, visibly beginning to quiver. How were they going to explain the noise? The stain? They were in bed together, nude for God's sake. They won't be able to explain that. It was too late to start getting dressed, they were too scared to move anyway. George’s mind was drawing a blank, unable to think of a single solution.  
The constable banged his fist on the door, the loud knock resonating in their ears. As they listened for the next series or knocks, fear completely took over them. The banging didn’t seem close, but it was so loud it was hard to tell. Smith continued banging his fist against the door and even began speaking.

  
“What the hell are you doing in there?!” George gave a weak whimper, his hand over his mouth to jeep himself from being heard.

  
“What are we going to do...?” George whispered to Ringo, feeling so sure that they were going to be caught in the act. The two had hoped that Smith would soon give up when there was no reply, and head back downstairs. But that was not the case as the officer persisted, his voice continuing to grow louder with each bang. 

“I know you’re in there!” he yelled. He went quiet for a second, before continuing. “Oh, so you’ve locked the door? Good! Wouldn’t want me to come in and slit your throats, right?” Ringo then looked to George, somewhat relieved. He was glad that there was something keeping the constable away, but on the other hand, he knew it would only make things worse later. What with the constable’s broken sanity and paranoia, this would only add more onto it. 

“George.” Ringo said in a hushed tone, running his fingers through his hair. The drummer tried his best to calm his friend as Smith persisted. Another bang, just as loud as the others caused the two to physically jump. 

“Not gonna answer?! Fine, then I’ll force myself in!!” Ringo, thinking quick, commanded for George to get under the duvet. He did, Ringo followed, flinging the blanket over their bodies, trying to hide what they had been doing. The duvet covered their heads as Ringo held his bandmate close, George pushed his face into the crook of Ringo’s neck with his eyes screwed shut.  
The sound of a heavy body colliding with wood echoed. A crashing soon followed as the two musicians held each other tighter, anticipating what would be coming next.

 

\---  
“Paul?” John reached back, pushing Paul to bring him out of his unresponsive state. Paul shook his head, coming back to reality, the voice of Maxwell still in the back of his mind. It haunted his thoughts this entire car ride, making him silent and withdrawn. 

“What…?” 

“I was saying how I thought I taught you better when it came to grabbing stuff on the run.” Paul shrugged, not laughing with John. 

“I was a bit distracted by the group of snarling infected behind us.” 

“No need to get defensive, son, only teasing. I’m just saying that it would’ve been nice if you could have at least grabbed our weapons and shoved them in your pocket.” Paul exhaled through his nostrils, leaning his head against the window. “You’re not doing this quiet shit again, Macca. Especially when just a bit ago you were clinging to me like I was your mum.” 

“Can’t I just rest for a minute, John?” just as he said that, the cab hit a small bump, causing Paul’s head to hit against the glass. Paul grunted at the small sting of pain as John bit back a snicker. 

“Suppose not, Paulie.” he sneered. 

“Boys, stop it.” Brian said. 

“Or what? You’ll turn this car around?” John retorted, receiving a glance from Brian, which seemed to silently scold him. John looked down at the food he had taken that sat in his lap. He examined the bags that held each item, holding each one up and turning it. “This isn’t much to live off, Bri. Between all of us I don’t think it’ll last long.” John said with a hint of a grim tone. 

“It’s not much, but it will have to do for now. I don’t want to leave George or Ringo alone with the constable for longer than we have to. We can always go out and get more if needed.” 

“But there might not even be more, Eppy.” John pointed out. 

“We could go back to the supermarket, I’m sure the infected would have gone off to find more living people.” Paul raised his head in alarm. He didn’t want to even consider going back there. He couldn’t bare to see the reminders of what had just happened. Maxwell’s voice was growing louder again, Loretta’s screams were accompying it. The shrill voice was almost overpowering Maxwell, it felt as though his eardrums were about to blow out. His hands flew to his ears, covering them. 

“No!” Paul yelled 

“No?” Brian asked. 

“We can’t go back!” 

“We may have to, Paul.” Brian explained. “We’ll need more food eventually.” 

“We can find another shop.” 

“Every single one was cleaned out, Macca.” John said, turning to the back seat. Seeing Paul’s terrified face, John attempted to watch his wording. 

“There’s gotta be another. We can’t go back, we can’t, we can’t, WE CAN’T!” Paul sounded like he was having trouble even speaking, he was beginning to hyperventilate and violently shake. Brian slammed on the brakes, causing the car to abruptly stop as John swung open his door. He opened the back seat door where Paul sat, still holding his ears and shaking. John’s hands were on his shoulders, moving Paul, hoping to get him out of this. Brian ran over as well, trying his best to calm the bassist. 

“Paul, breathe, come on. Take a deep breath.” Brian guided while John stroked his arms. John felt Paul tremble under his touch, his hands still holding his ears, pressing against them. 

“Put your hands down!” John said, pulling Paul’s hands away from his ears, holding his wrists. He pulled his bandmate’s hands to him. The screams of Loretta only became louder, Maxwell could no longer be heard, he was only a buzzing noise in the background of Paul’s mind. Paul pulled and tugged his hands, he needed to quiet the noise. It was too much, he needed to make it stop, he needed to muffle it somehow. He felt a hand, probably Brian’s, petting his messy hair in a comforting way. John pulled him close, released his hands, and wrapped his arms around him, holding his arms to his side. 

“Take a breath, Paul.” 

“Breathe, Macca, come on. Listen to Eppy, just breathe.” Paul complied, closing his eyes, taking in a shaky breath through his nose. The familiar scent of John brought him closer to a calmer state, bringing a happier memory to push away the others. He took a few more until he could finally control himself once again. His quivering began to subside, John could feel his friend becoming more relaxed. Paul exhaled one last time before pulling away from John. 

“Better now?” Paul swiped a finger under his eye lid and nodded. 

“Why don’t you nap for the rest of the ride.” Brian suggested. “I think you need some rest.” John agreed with Brian, gently pushing Paul to sit back in his seat. 

“Thanks, Johnny.” Paul said, closing his eyes, instantly drifting off. John’s heart swelled at the use of his nick name. He had the urge to place a kiss to Paul’s forehead right there, but he knew that wasn’t a good idea. Instead, he ruffled his dark hair before going to take his seat in the front. Brian sat down too, looking to John. 

“Do you think he’ll be okay, Bri?” John asked, his voice surprisingly sounded unsure. Brian turned the key and let the car roll. 

“I think he will.” Brian said, quietly. “After all, you seemed to handle him well back there.” 

“I suppose, but I don’t want him to rely on me to be okay. I want him to be stable on his own, Eppy.” 

“I know, but it’s good he has you. He needs a friend right now.” John’s eyes moved back to Paul sleeping. He had the urge to tell Brian about his feelings towards Paul, the feelings he’s repressed for years, but decided against it. He simply hummed to himself, not wanting to take his eyes off of the bassist. Brian didn’t question it, he only continued to drive.

 

\---  
The two men under the covers squeezed their eyes shut, keeping close, and bracing themselves for what was coming. However, what came next wasn’t the raving constable. It was silence, pure silence. Ringo poked his head above the duvet over them, realizing that Constable Smith wasn’t even in their room. The door was completely intact and the officer was nowhere to be seen. They were alone. 

“George, it’s okay, he’s not here.” the drummer whispered. George sat up, looking around the room. 

“The loon must have broken into a different room.” George snickered, relief filling his body. Ringo cracked a smile which slowly faded when the sound of feet quickly going down the stairs could be heard. 

“But what room?” he sat up with him. Ringo moved off of the bed to grab his clothes and get dressed. He grabbed the dirty piece of latex and threw it to the bon absent mindedly. George did so as well. 

“I don’t know. Maybe Paul, John, or Brian locked the bathroom door?” George zipped up his trousers. He used the blanket to wipe off his stomach with a grimace. 

“It sounded like he ran down the steps pretty quick, Geo.” Ringo buttoned up his shirt. 

“He was embarrassed…?” George said, fixing the collar of his shirt. Ringo didn’t answer, thinking for a moment. He then remembered when they first walked through this flat. He remembered the one room that shook him, the room that seemed so joyful yet dismal at the same time. 

“What about the other room?” Ringo asked. The guitarist stiffened as he pulled his socks on. 

“You mean the one with the…man?” Ringo nodded, tying his shoe. “But I don’t remember either of us locking it. It couldn’t have been that…could it?”

“THE BASTARDS!” a scream, which could be led back to Smith attacked their ears. George and Ringo ran for the door, hurrying to see what was happening. A crash followed as they made their way down the stairs.  
As they got to the last step, they peeked out to see that Smith had overturned the chair he was once sitting at and had broken the small table. He was standing in the middle of it all, breathing heavily. Smith’s head snapped to the two, his eyes practically glowing said. They hopped off of the stairs when they made eye contact with the officer. 

“You fucking bastards.” he snarled, stomping towards them. George and Ringo pushed themselves closer together, side by side. The constable pointed a fat finger at the two of them. “You disgusting fucks!” his spit hit their faces as he moved in closer. 

“Smith, what are you talking about?” Ringo asked, trying to play dumb. He fully knew just what the constable had seen. 

“Fuck off, you know what I mean!” Smith shoved a finger against the drummer’s chest. 

“No, we don’t.” George scowled. Constable Smith turned to George, getting into his face. The younger guitarist could smell his hot, rotten breath as he spoke. 

“Then why were you hiding? Why was the door LOCKED?!” the younger guitarist didn’t back away when the constable moved closer, putting only an inch between them. 

“We weren’t hiding! And we DIDN’T lock the door!” 

“Then who did?!” Constable Smith waved his arms around like a mad man. His voice grew louder with each word.

“We don’t-“ Ringo began to get in the middle of them, but George ended up finishing his sentence for him. 

“We don’t know!” George suddenly shoved Constable Smith back. Thrown off guard, the officer stumbled, falling on his backside with a thump. The two musicians cracked a small smirk that enraged him even more. 

“You think you’re funny?!” his face went red. 

“No, we think you’re funny!” George said. 

“Well, do you think this is funny too?!” the officer pulled out his firearm from under his shirt. He waved it about, almost carelessly as he got back to his feet. Both George and Ringo stood still, their smirks faltered. “What?? Where are those smiles? I thought I was funny!” he cocked the gun with a grin, showing off his yellowed teeth. 

“Please, let’s talk about this.” Ringo said, holding his hands up. 

“Oh, we’ll talk about it alright. But first we have to wait for our friends,” he sneered and drew out ‘friends,’ “to finally come back.” George and Ringo glanced at each other with rocks in their stomachs. 

“What are you planning?” George asked. The constable laughed. 

“I’m just planning on talking to them since it’s obvious neither of you know anything. Right?” Constable Smith smiled widely, accentuating every wrinkle on his face and bags under his exhausted eyes.  
George felt Ringo cling to his arm as they stood as still as they could. Neither dared to moved while the officer kept his weapon presented to them. His eyes moved between them, not becoming distracted by anything else. George brimmed with regret, wishing they had never gone upstairs. This wouldn’t be happening if they just thought a little, if they had just stayed to keep their eyes on the constable. Rather than going upstairs and getting it on like a couple of horny teenagers. 

“For now though, get on the couch.” he gestured with his gun to the sofa next to the overturned chair and smashed table. 

“The couch?” Ringo asked. 

“So I can watch you both. We’ll wait as long as we need for them, now GET ON!” Ringo tugged on George, telling him to walk with him to the couch. George was still, not wanting to move while the constable still held his firearm out. 

“Geo, move.” he tugged. Smith made his way up to George, giving him a hard push that sent him knocking into the drummer and falling on top of him on the couch. 

“Bit of a bad time to queer it up now!” Smith cruelly laughed. George rolled off of Ringo, sitting up yet looking down to the floor. Constable Smith crouched and lifted the chair with one hand to put it back in its former place. He plopped down with the hand that held the gun resting on the arm rest. He made sure the tip faced them so that they would not try pulling anything. 

“Now we wait.” he said as thunder could be heard rumbling in the distance.

 

\---  
The cab finally came to a halt in front of the flat. John was glad to get out and stretch his legs. He and Brian were still shaken by Paul’s little outburst and chose not to bother him at all for the rest of the ride back. John took one last glance back at the slumbering bassist, enjoying how peaceful he looked compared to before. John almost considered waiting in the car for a few more minutes so Paul wouldn’t have to wake up yet. Still, he got out and stood at the backseat to give Paul a light shake with his hand that was not filled with bread and cereal. Paul sleepily blinked a few times. 

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.” 

“Where…?” he asked groggily. 

“The flat.” 

“Oh, right…” Paul answered, disappointment showing in his face. John held out a hand to Paul, but he declined it, pushing himself out of the car. A few raindrops fell onto their heads as they heard the thunder grow louder. 

“We had better get inside before the weather gets bad.” Brian said, gesturing for them to follow. They did so as Brian opened the flat door. The three men took a step inside, unsure of how to take in what they saw. George and Ringo sat together on the couch, both looking scared out of their minds. Meanwhile, the constable was sitting in the chair they left seeing him in with his gun pointing towards them. 

“Look who’s back, boys.” the constable greeted, looking to the frightened two on the couch. 

“What are you doing?” Brian asked, taking another step inside. None of them made the move to close the door, letting it hang open. 

“Just having a talk.” Smith stood, making his way over to them. He moved between them, reached for the door, and slammed it shut. The slam was almost as loud as the thunder that soon followed. 

“I didn’t realize you could only talk with your gun.” John remarked, earning a dirty look from the officer. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Brian questioned, furrowing his brow. The officer made direct eye contact with the manager. 

“Don’t act like you’re a fucking idiot like these two! I know what you’re about, Epstein! I should’ve known you were no different, you’re just like the rest! Sneaky, conniving, selfish.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” he bellowed. “I’m not an idiot, Epstein, I know what you did! Who was he??” 

“He?” Brian raised an eyebrow. Paul and John exchanged glances between each other, then to George and Ringo, still on the sofa. Paul and John could tell there was something they didn’t know that their bandmates did. 

“Who was HE?!” 

“We’d like to know just as much as you!” John said. 

“Was he an old friend, a fan or some poor person who actually trusted you?!” 

“Who??” Brian didn’t understand. 

“The man, Epstein! The dead, rotting man upstairs! The one you fucking killed!!” Brian became grim. He remembered the corpse on the bed upstairs that he stumbled into seeing. He could guess how suspicious it would look to someone like the officer, especially with the locked door. Brian knew none of them killed the man upstairs, but how would they convince the constable that? 

“Dead man?” Both John and Paul questioned, turning to Brian. 

“What dead man, Eppy?” John asked. 

“You’re just as good as these two, Lennon.” the constable sneered. He moved back to the couch and grabbed the two by their shirts, flinging them over with the group. The four pushed together into a blob, keeping close to each other. Brian stood in front of them, willing to protect them.

“Why did you kill him?!” 

“What?” Brian asked. 

“Why did you kill him?! He didn’t look like he was infected, he looked like he was lying on the bed!” the constable began to become hysterical, his eyes were wild. “Tell me, Epstein! Was he in the way? Was he not useful to you? Or maybe you didn’t trust him and thought it was best to take him out!!” 

“You’re nuts!” George yelled from behind the manager.

“It was a good thing I found the man before you could do the same to me!” 

“We’re not going to kill you.” Brian stated, trying to stay calm. He made sure not to ball his hands or make any moves that could be seen as attacking. The manager kept his features soft and his voice low.

“Why wouldn’t you?! I know you don’t trust me! You never did! Right?!” he directly looked at Paul and John. They went wide-eyed and stared at each other. They tried to mentally communicate and find out just why he was calling them out specifically.

“What?” Paul asked, stepping away. 

“I heard you and Lennon talking that night. Saying you don’t trust me!” 

“How? Y-you were asleep…?” 

“LOOK AT ME! You think I got a wink of sleep since this started?!” he pointed to the dark circles under his eyes. 

“But we heard you snoring.” Paul stumbled. 

“I was faking, you fucking idiot! Do you really think anyone would snore that damn loud?! You’re not the only one to not trust others, and I’m glad I was. Or else I’d never see your little plan coming! To get me all riled up and kill me, then when asked you'll all say I was crazy. I was going to kill you all if you didn't kill me! It was your plan all along! Or should I say it was your loving manager here, acting all nice and innocent, as if he wasn’t behind this whole thing!” Paul felt sick, he felt exposed. All this time he knew they were talking about him. The worst part about it was that he was right there when he heard it. He wasn't in the next room over or upstairs, he was right _next_ to them. Paul pressed to John hoping to find a solution. 

“I am not behind anything.” Brian assured. 

“I want you out.” Smith said. 

“This is our flat!” John yelled. “We should be telling you to leave!” 

“Drop the food in your hands, and get out. That or I can put a bullet through your skulls!!” he waved the firearm. Brian took it upon himself to attempt to calm the officer down. He took another step towards him, his hands still visible. 

“Smith, listen to me.” he began. 

“Back up.” was all Smith said. His now shaking hand held the firearm aimed at Brian. Brian swallowed, but knew not to give in. If he were to show fear, it would only give Constable Smith power.

“We are not going to hurt you.” Brian took another slow step. 

“Back up.” Smith didn’t move, still holding his gun up. Thunder could be heard, along with heavy rain hitting the roof. 

“Eppy, stop.” John said, becoming worried for their manager. 

“Smith, please, you’re a rational man.” Brian continued moving closer as the other boys began to join John. Each murmuring for Brian to come back and stand with them. Brian ignored them, though and still moved. “I’m sure we can come to a proper conclusion.” 

“I said BACK UP!” 

 _Bang!_ A gunshot sounded as the thunder outside roared.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So sort of iffy on this chapter. I don't hate it, but something doesn't seem right. So I may edit it a touch later on, but I also may not! Anyways, thanks again for reading, I appreciate all the feedback!

Brian’s voice roared with the thunder. His scream of pure agony as he gripped his bleeding right arm reverberated throughout the entire flat. Falling to his knees, Brian’s face scrunched up in pain. He looked as though he wanted to speak, but all he could do was scream. It was too difficult to comprehend what had happened, for Brian and the boys. They knew the constable was at his breaking point, and they knew that he had shot someone before. But even then, they couldn’t believe Smith would shoot one of them. The four huddled around their manager while he still remained on the red-stained floor. John crouched down, getting close to Brian’s face. Though, Brian wouldn’t know how close, as his eyes were still screwed shut.

“Eppy! Eppy!” John called to him. Brian could only grit his teeth and utter a small whimper, still holding his arm. John saw as the thick blood pooled and ran between his fingers, staining his dark suit. “Eppy it’s okay, we’ll-we’ll get you first aid!” John said, disgusted with how frightened his voice sounded. He stumbled over his words, he couldn’t think straight, all he could think of was that their manager was sitting before them bleeding. The others knelt down with John.

“Yeah, we’ll bandage it up!” Paul added. Brian tried to move, but found difficulty in doing so.

“Help him up!” John demanded. They each held a part of his upper body, lightly pulling him to his feet. He gave a whine as a response. Their manager’s entire body trembled, he could barely support himself on his wobbly legs. Finally, Brian opened his eyes, but he didn’t dare look at his arm. He only stared at a worried John. Forcing a weak smile, Brian said:

“At least I’m alive enough to scream.” Brian muttered, moving them away so he could stand on his own. His knees buckled, almost sending him toppling over until John caught him.

“Bri, don’t force yourself.” advised Paul. The constable chuckled, pointing his firearm towards them once more.

“Cute.” he sneered. “But that was just a warning shot. When I say back up, I mean BACK. UP.” Smith suddenly raised his voice over the raging weather outside. “Don’t forget, I’m the mean old officer who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet between your eyes. You’re lucky I didn’t kill him just then!”

“You’re fucking crazy is what you are!” John shouted equally as loud, still holding their manager up.

“No, I’m thinking about my well being for once!”

“When did you ever start?!” John retorted. The officer stomped over to John, pressing the tip of his gun into his chest. John held his glare, barely blinking.

“Don’t think I won’t.” Smith said, darkly. John however, didn’t move. Constable Smith seemed to not grow annoyed, but rather his grin remained. “Fine, then how about I finish off poor Eppy.” the way he mockingly said Brian’s nickname disgusted the four bandmates. John began to lose this small battle when the constable’s gun pressed against Brian’s cheek. John wanted to shove the officer and beat his head in with the butt of his own weapon, but he was too scared that something else would happen to their already hurt manager. Brian shut his eyes tightly, expecting the worst. A gunshot did not assault their ears, though. Moving from them, Smith grabbed the bassist by the arm.

“Or maybe killing your girlfriend here would get it through your skulls.” Constable Smith threatened with a wriggling Paul next to him. John’s anger spiked, the urge to kill the officer was full fledged. He looked ready to jump the man until he heard Ringo whispering to him.

“John, please let’s do as he says. He’s going to kill Paul if we don’t. You know he will.” Ringo begged. John looked between the drummer and Smith. He held onto Paul tightly, fully prepared to fire his gun right through the side of Paul’s head. Paul’s eyes were wide, and his face was white. Sweat was forming on his brow, already dripping down his face.

“What do you want?” John asked.

“I want you all to leave. Don’t take any supplies or weapons, just get out.” John shook his head and exhaled.

“Fine, just let Paul go.” Paul was released, yanking his arm away and hurrying back to the group.

“Now go.” Smith pointed to the door. They didn’t have much of a choice. It was either this or death. Though it seemed that at this point death was imminent, they were going out there again with no food and no source of protection. They might as well have been going out there in the nude. Still they left, no longer putting up a fight. None of them looked back at the constable. They knew what his face must have looked like. Some sick for of triumph and arrogance.

They walked through the heavy rain to the car. Brian was now able to get his footing, but obviously was unable to drive, especially in this weather. Paul offered to drive, making his way to the driver’s seat, with John as the passenger. The other three packed into the backseat, not so much as glancing at their former shelter. Paul took a deep breath and started the engine. He squinted to see ahead through the rain. It was almost impossible to see, but he began to drive anyway.

John remembered Brian, still holding his arm to apply some form of pressure, and ripped off his tie. He handed it back to Ringo, who helped tightly tie it around the wound. Brian made a face when the fabric made contact with the wound.

“We’re gonna have to get the bullet out.” John said.

“Yes, but we have more important things to deal with first.” Brian said.

“What if it gets infected?” the drummer asked, examining the tie surrounded by the blood stain.

Brian shook his head. “I understand that that could happen, but let’s at least make sure we have a plan for the moment.”

“What are we gonna do now?” George asked, meekly.

“Well, you did suggest going to the country.” Ringo said.

Brian nodded, adjusting the tie. “Yes, and that was our original plan until we got to that flat.”

“I suppose, but what will we live off of if we get there. I mean we haven’t got anything now.” George mumbled.

“Well, Eppy, we could always go back to you know…” John suggested, trying to be subtle, but Paul caught on quick.

“John.” Paul said, a bit of edge in his voice. “I can’t see anything on the left side because of this bleeding rain.”

“What do you want me to do? Not exactly mother nature.”

“You know what I mean, look out on your side, and tell me what you see.”

“Jesus, Paul it’s not like there’s any heavy traffic.”

“John, just tell me how it looks!” Paul ordered, gripping the steering wheel. The rain seemed to be coming down even harder, creating large puddles in the road.

“It looks like a fucking road!” John snapped. “Now stay on it, you’re drifting.” Paul tried to do so, but was starting to lose control. The car went from drifting to swerving drastically. They hit a puddle, a large splash of water hit the window and blocked their vision for only a second, but it was enough to not see the lamp post ahead. The front of the car collided with the metal, causing everyone to jerk forwards. Brian was thrown into the front, landing on his wound. He cried out at the sudden pain as George and Ringo were pressed into the seats in front of them. John and Paul hid behind their arms, defending themselves from any flying pieces of window. Bits of broken window littered the seats, smoke rose from the front. The five groaned. Paul rubbed his head when John began to have an outburst.

“What the hell, Paul?! Don’t you know how to drive a god damn car?!!”

“I lost control, John! There was nothing I could do! I told you to fucking look on the side for me!”

“Don’t pin this on me! It’s not my fault you can’t even keep a cab under control!”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was! What matters is we find a new car for Christ’s sake!” George erupted to everyone’s surprise. “So can you stop arguing about it so we can go look!” John turned around, tilted his head, and gave a smile.

“Aw, our little Georgie’s growing a pair!” he said in a pitchy voice.

“Sod off!” George retorted. “Let’s stop wasting time!”

“What about Brian?” asked Ringo. “He’s still hurt.” Brian forced himself to move back into a sitting position in the back. He inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“I’ll be fine.” Brian assured. “I’ve felt worse.”

“You’ve been shot in the arm, Eppy, I don’t know how much worse you could feel.” John said.

“You shouldn’t push yourself.” Paul said.  

“Boys, I’m a grown man, I can handle this.” Brian asserted through grinding teeth.

“But, Bri-“ John began to object.

“John, please we need to go.” Brian interrupted.

“For Christ’s sake, you’ve got a goddamn bullet in your arm, and trying to brush it off like it’s a papercut!”

“No, John, I’m thinking about the group’s sake.”

“What else is new?” John scoffed.

“John.” Brian was about to lift a finger, but heard the all too familiar sound of an infected’s roar. It was distant, but still reached their ears loud and clear. Brian paused, eyes shifting around. “We need to go now, no arguments.” he said. John, for once, didn’t deny it, and got out of his seat, along with the rest. The far roar was heard again, they knew they couldn’t waste time. They briskly made their way down the street, scanning for a proper form of transportation.

The rain soaked them in a matter of only a few minutes. Paul walked close to John, hugging his arms tightly to keep warm. John saw his friend shiver and bare his teeth. His wet hair plastered to his face, and his eyes were squinted from the cold water flying into them.

“Want my jacket?” John asked, ready to slip off the jacket. Paul looked to be visibly cringing, his self hug tightening.

“Not your bird.” he muttered.

“Never said you were, just saw you freezing your arse off. Thought I was being nice.”

“Well I don’t need it.”

“Fine, shiver like a stubborn git.” Paul just shrugged.

“Why is it that whenever we need something, it’s nowhere to be found?” George huffed, searching through the rain. Cars were scarce looking, and most found had no keys or gas. They had gotten lucky the first time, but that luck was beginning to run dry. It looked as though they were truly at their ends.

Another screech boomed, this time much closer. The group stopped, and looked around, trying to find the source. Ringo turned too look behind them, and noticed a lone figure. It shuffled and jerked. A second one appeared, moving the same way.

“Look!” Ringo said urgently in a hushed tone. They squinted their eyes, the two becoming clearer in the rain. It was Mal and Neil, both sniffing at the air as they moved. The two men actually was able to sniff them out. Suddenly, their heads snapped up, and they made eye contact with each of them almost at the exact same time. They threw their heads back to release a gut wrenching howl. Then it was dead quiet, Mal and Neil weren’t sprinting towards them, instead they stood still. It was thought at first that their howl was echoed, but what it really was was their howls being copied tenfold. Coming up behind them was a horde of snarling, drooling teenagers, most likely from the concert. But it didn’t matter where they were from, what mattered was that they were ravenous, vicious, and coming right for them.

“RUN!” John charged ahead, urging them all to follow. George and Ringo broke into a run with Brian behind them. Paul however, couldn’t find it in him to move. He could only stand there, frozen in place, staring at the oncoming horde. There were hundreds, each more terrifying than the last. And in that horde, he saw their fans, the innocent teenagers who came to their show, not expecting such a tragedy to occur. He saw the kids who looked up to them, he saw people just like Loretta’s sister. Paul was suddenly on that stage again where it all started, then in a blink, he was in the supermarket with Loretta’s screams.  He wanted to run, but his legs just wouldn’t move. Brian was the first to notice as they ran.

“Where’s Paul?!” Brian gasped. John came to a halt, desperately looking around. He saw Paul still way behind them, not even running from the horde growing closer.

“PAUL!” John cupped his shaky hands and shouted. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE RUN!!” John went to shout again when Brian sprinted back, ignoring the others’ yells for him to stop. Brian picked up his speed, going as fast as his tired legs could allow him as one infected girl was coming especially close to the frozen bassist. Her jaw began to fall open, and her bloodied fingers almost brushed Paul's face.

“Paul!!” Brian exclaimed. Reaching out, Brian shoved Paul to the side, causing him to fall to the ground. The contact with the pavement pulled Paul out of his trance. He watched in horror as his manager was brought to the ground by the creature. He was holding her back, but he couldn’t for much longer. His arm was too weak. He twisted and strained to see Paul.

“Paul, run!!” he told him. Paul shook his head, not caring that more infected were coming.

“I can’t, Brian! I can’t leave you!” he felt himself begin to tear up. Brian attempted to fight off the infected, one hand on her forehead, the other on her chin. Her jaws snapped while he pushed her face back.

“You have to, please!”

“We won’t make it!! We’ll fucking DIE!” he sobbed. The thunder grew, and the rain seemed to not let up. Though it did allow more time since the infecteds were being slowed. It didn’t matter much though, they were going to be closing in soon. Brian knew that if Paul didn’t run, they would both surely die.

“No, I kn-know you won’t!” Brian began to struggle. The girl came close to biting his nose off. “Just keep together, Paul. Keep them together!” His arms began to quiver and weaken.

“Bri-“ their manager lost, the pain in his arm being too much. The girl broke through, biting through the fabric of his jacket and shirt, into his shoulder. She snapped her neck, ripping a chunk of cloth and flesh off of him.

“GO!!” Brian’s expression twisted. “RUN NOW!” The horde was beginning to circle them, and Paul finally ran. He looked back once, and wished he never did. The infected creatures formed a circle around Brian, some just stood there while others wildly dug through the crowd to get to him. Speeding up, he didn’t even try taking another look again, he couldn’t handle seeing such a sight again. Especially with the knowledge that the person being torn apart was their manager. He paid no attention to the flame in his lung or the crushing feeling in his throat. He only kept his blurred mind on his bandmates ahead. Through his tears, he saw them all waiting.

“Where’s Brian?!” John asked, alarmed. Paul said nothing, only grasped at them, trying to push and pull them along. Somehow, he would never be able to say how, Paul actually got them to move. Maybe they were equally as concerned for their own lives as they saw the giant group running towards them. Paul assumed that they were already finished with Brian. He would be in that horde soon, coming after them just like Mal and Neil. He didn’t want to think of it, but it couldn’t b denied.

They all were still running through the downpour. The crowd behind them almost reminiscent of how it was before. The fun memories of running from screaming girls were tainted and corrupted. They would never think fondly of it again. They took a turn into an empty alley, staying low in the shadows and keeping quiet. They hid behind the dirty dumpster that held a smell so horrible they almost threw up, holding their breaths. The only thing they could hear was the rain and heartbeats mixing with the thunder. The roars and screeches rose as quickly as they faded. The numerous pounding footsteps became more and more distant from them. Finally, they were alone for the moment. Paul let out a held in gasp, on the verge of a sob, when John pointed a finger towards him.

“Where’s Brian??” Paul coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. John pushed his shoulder roughly. “Where the fuck is he?!”

“He-he’s dead.” Paul clenched his jaw, remembering the pain on his face. “One of them took him to the ground, ripped a bit r-right out.” Paul forced himself to speak through ragged breaths. George and Ringo stared at each other, then at John. John didn’t even gaze back, he only stared straight ahead. He looked like he was going into shock, his jaw hung open as it all processed. Then, he suddenly began to speak.

“You just ran away.” he mumbled. “He came back for you, and you just ran off.”

“John, I didn’t want to!”

“Bullshit! You wanted to save your own arse because you were too stupid to just run when we all did!”

“I’m sure Paul didn’t want to leave him.” Ringo defended.

“Don’t take his side! Brian’s fucking DEAD and it’s all cause Princess here needed more rescuing!” John lashed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Paul questioned.

“It means that you’ve been nothing but a damsel in distress since this all started. Always needing someone to swoop in and save you!”

“Screw you!” Paul spat. “You’re pulling this out of your arse!” Paul balled his fists.

“Oh, really? How about our good old times with Smith?! Remember how he almost shot you to get us out? Remember when I almost got killed ‘cause he slapped you??” John said. “Or how about the supermarket.” Paul perked, his heartbeat growing faster.

“Shut up!”

“Can’t stand to hear the truth, Paulie? Don’t like hearing about what a helpless, selfish prick you are? Always needing help, but never willing to give it! Now look where it's gotten us! You fucking _let_ Brian be killed by those things!” Paul lept onto the older guitarist, surprising all of them, even John. Paul pushed him against the alley wall, gripping his shirt and shaking him.

“FUCK YOU, LENNON! FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Paul screamed, banging a fist against his chest. His voice became scratchier and hoarse the more he yelled. “YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!”

“I know you’re a coward!” John narrowed his eyes, pushing the bassist away. That stung Paul the most. The word left John’s lips, and stabbed through him harder than any weapon. Paul almost found himself screaming and crying again, but the word left him feeling nothing. He felt numb. His face grew, not calm, but empty. He lowered his fists, stepping back. The rain began to slow, and the thunder faded. It began to simply drizzle, but the grey clouds remained.

“Let’s get going.” Paul said with little emotion.

“You sure?” Ringo asked, hesitantly. Paul nodded.

“We need to get to the country. Like George said.” George gave no input when Ringo’s eyes shifted to him. He sighed, and Ringo copied him. John did nothing, only turning on his heels to lead.

“We still need a car.” he said flatly, not looking back to see if they were following. Without much of a choice, the three musicians followed, with Paul dragging behind. Paul kept his distance from John, pain staring to eat inside him. He felt so ashamed of himself, he felt disgusted. Paul couldn’t help but think of Maxwell again as droplets of water fell from his fringe. The same question replaying, only this time he had the answer.

_What would you do?_

_Run away_.

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so after an extra week of looking this chapter over and re-writing it, I think I wrote up a pretty good chapter! Again, there may be longer gaps like that due to certain ecent, but I want to thank you all for reading!

The silence of the group was so out of place. The only noise from them was the occasional whisper between George and Ringo, who walked between John and Paul. Paul, lagging behind, kept his blank eyes ahead, not even looking behind him once. John, leading the group, walked with much more violent movements and a glare plastered on his face. George and Ringo, however, walked side by side, glancing to each other every so often.

Ringo coughed. “See anything ahead, John?” the drummer asked. John gave a grunt, only to mutter a, “no” shortly after. Ringo rubbed his neck in an uncomfortable gesture. George tugged at his collar, the thick tension beginning to choke the both of them.

“Hey, Paulie, how about you?” George forced himself to ask. Paul didn’t even give an answer. His face, still blank and devoid. “Paul?” George repeated. The bassist, shook his head, bringing himself back to consciousness. His hazel eyes, bloodshot and red, shifted to the front where the older guitarist lead.

“I- uh- maybe John sees something?” Paul stuttered. John slightly turned back, made a disgusted face, and turned back. It was not much, but it was enough to make another tear inside Paul’s abdomen. The feeling of his guts churning doubled, to almost an unbearable pain.

“He said he didn’t see anything.” Ringo said. Paul mumbled an apology, and his eyes went back to the ground, studying the abstract cracks.

“I wish we still had our cab, my feet are starting to ache.” George thought out loud, receiving an elbow to the side by Ringo. “I’m just saying!” George rubbed his side.

“I agree, Geo, it would be nice to have our car.” muttered John. Paul bit his lip, holding back a noise of discomfort. Ringo sighed, continuing to search. George did as well, squinting to get a better look. Giving a small jump in surprise, he swiftly hurried ahead, almost pushing John. John, not appreciating such contact, growled and grabbed George.

“What the hell are you doing, Harrison?!” George yanked away, pointing ahead.

“I see a van!”

“And? How do you know it’s not like every other shitty car here and doesn’t have keys?!”

“I see fumes coming from it!” George said, eyes filled with excitement. Ringo’s eyes widened, and he jumped ahead.

“Let’s hurry before it runs out of gas!” George nodded, briskly moving alongside the drummer. The van was coming closer, its right hand door swung open and the fumes still rising. They made it up to the dark blue, scuffed van, with a large dent in the side, with George getting to the driver’s seat. He turned the key left behind, turning the ignition off. He looked to the fuel gauge, hoping something, if anything was left.

“How much?” Ringo asked hopefully.

“Not a lot, but I think it’ll be enough.” George said, indicating the gauge the read as just a little under half full. Sighing, the drummer turned to give a thumbs up to the approaching bandmates. Though, they barely noticed, distracted by their own emotions. Even without George and Ringo walking with them, the same amount of space was left between the two.

Paul saw the silent expression from his friend, and although a form of relief spurred, it couldn’t combat the more superior feeling. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was. It seemed like guilt, but simultaneously felt like anxiety. A terrible concoction that showed little to no sign of letting up, and only intensified with every short glance towards the guitarist he thought he was closest to. He wished that he could whisk the feeling away, to simply purge it from his system like any other sickness, but Paul could not. This was sickening feeling that could not be gotten rid of. Still, Paul gave a weak smile and walked on, staying behind a distant John.

“Isn’t this great?” George grinned. “We could probably even sleep in it instead of finding another flat.”

“Oh, good we’ve upgraded from a bed to a van!” John called, eyes moving up and down the vehicle. “Could we also use the seats as food instead of finding more too?”

“Just suggesting.”

“I mean it could be easier if that horde were to come back.” Ringo said.

“It would get us out to the country a lot faster too…” Paul mustered up. “You know, instead of stopping somewhere and all…” Paul expected a cruel quip from John, but instead there was nothing. Not even a look this time. John was not even giving the bassist acknowledgement, almost pretending he was nonexistent. Paul knew he should have felt hurt, or even angry, but that gut feeling overpowered everything. Reducing it to numbness. Inwardly sighing, Paul closed his mouth.

“We could do what we did before and take shifts. Each of us drive at least once.” Ringo added.

“I suppose.” John said. “We’re gonna have to take longer shifts now, though.” Paul felt that that was a subtle jab towards him.

“I’m sure we can handle it. Who wants to drive first?” George questioned. None of them spoke at first, each looking to each other, waiting for someone to volunteer. Paul hesitantly raised his hand.

“I’ll go first.” he offered. “That alright?” Ringo nodded, along with George.

“As long as you don’t jump from the van while it’s moving.” John said, a much less subtle hit to his bandmate. Paul cringed, but tried to not hear him.

“Right, so let’s get going.” the drummer attempted to break the obvious tension, getting his bandmates to pile into the dented van. They crinkled their noses at pungent smell which could only be identified as alcohol and marijuana.

“That solves the mystery of the abandoned car with the ignition on. Probably ran off to either throw up or find some crisps.” John said, taking the seat farthest in the back as Paul took the driver’s seat with Ringo as the passenger. George sat next to John, laying his head back.

“Probably the first.” Ringo said, picking up a large, open bag of crisps. About half of them were left inside, and Ringo happily popped one into his mouth. He held the bag out to the others. George happily took a handful, the growling in his stomach becoming louder. John only took a few, while Paul took none. “There’s no way you’re not hungry, Paul.”

“Yeah, all that running must have worked up an appetite.” Interjected John.

“Thanks, but I’m not.”

“I know it’s not a dinner, but it’s something.” the drummer reasoned. “You need to eat.”

“I said I’m fine, Rings.” he asserted, voice louder and less flat for a second. Seeing that there was no pushing his bandmate, Ringo ate a few more of the crisps, and put the bag down.

“I’ll go after you, Paul.” Ringo told him.

“Yeah.” he said, absent mindedly, and started the van. The engine gave a small sputter before beginning to make a low humming sound. Ringo relaxed and closed his eyes, feeling the car move under him.

\---

It had been a couple hours now, and Paul continued to drive. He knew it was about time to wake up Ringo, but something kept him from doing so. He suspected it was some form of guilt, as if he didn’t deserve to get a rest. That somehow kept him driving, even if he had little to no rest. The anxiety, guilt, and any other horrible feeling that held his mind captive pushed him to keep going, fully focused. He didn’t even notice his friend slowly awakening.

“Hey.” he tiredly mumbled, rubbing his blue eyes. Ringo looked to the sky to see that it was in fact a bit darker than earlier. Although it was difficult to see the sun through the grey clouds, it was clearly sunset by now. “Why didn’t you get me?” he yawned.

“Figured that I’d be fine for a bit longer.”

“We all agreed on taking shifts.”

“But John did say we’d need to take longer ones now, after all.” Ringo shook his head, knowing why Paul was doing this to himself.

“You can’t do this, you’re only hurting yourself.” Ringo scolded. “Pull over.” Ringo pointed to the side of the road.

“Why should you care?” Paul continued to drive.

“Because you’re our mate. The last thing we want to see is you punishing yourself.”

“John doesn’t care.” Paul pointed out. “And if you ask me, I deserve it, Ritch.”

“Stop it, you shouldn’t be hurting yourself like this. You couldn’t stop what happened.”

“Don’t act like I’m completely innocent, Ritchie, ‘cause I’m not.” Paul asserted, bringing the van to halt in the middle of the road. “If I didn’t just stand there like an idiot, Brian would still be here. If I didn’t need all this fucking rescuing, we wouldn’t be in this without him.”

“Talking like this won’t change anything.”

“Then at the very least acknowledge that it’s my fault.” Paul almost pleaded.

“It’s nobody’s fault.” Ringo asserted. Paul shrugged, parking the van, and stepping out to switch seats with the drummer. Once they were situated, Ringo began to drive on.

“Stop saying that. You know it’s a lie.”

“Get some sleep, Paul.” he said, gently.

“If I didn’t run, Ritchie. If I wasn’t such a…coward.” the word left a bitter taste.

“Get some sleep.” Ringo repeated. Paul allowed his eyes to shut, but couldn’t will himself to fall asleep at first. But using the sound of the humming engine as almost a white noise, he was finally lured to sleep. The voice of John now replacing Loretta and Maxwell.

Paul was pulled out of his slumber after what he could guess was about an hour or so later, realizing that it was night time. The shifting on his right was what spurred him awake, opening one eye to see who was next to him now. It was George, to his relief. Paul forced himself into a sitting position and stretched his arms out in front of him. George turned his head, one eyebrow raised. He questioned why Paul was awake.

“I don’t know, just woke up.”

“Are you feeling okay…?” George asked. Paul lied, saying that he was fine. George could tell that wasn’t true.

“Has John come up to drive yet?” George shook his head. Paul looked discouraged, knowing that he’d have to deal with more uncomfortable tension soon enough.

“He doesn’t hate you. You of all of us know how John is.”

“Not this time, Geo. I’ve gone too far, I got Brian killed. He’ll never forgive me for that.” Paul mumbled, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah, but he can’t stay mad at you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re his best friend.” Paul gazed out the car window, his eyes glazed over. He wanted to agree with George, but he knew he couldn’t. John was done with him, there was no going back now.

Paul gave a sad chuckle. “When did you become such a poof?” Paul said, trying to joke.

“Since the flat.” George said back with a lop-sided smile that soon faded when he realized what he had just said.

“What’s that mean?” Paul asked, observing how pale George became. George made an effort to respond, but his tongue became swollen. He stuttered over his words as he moved his lips. “George, what happened at the flat? Smith didn’t do anything did he?”

“No!” George almost slammed on the brakes, but stopped his foot in time. His face went from pale white to pink.

“Then what happened??”

“Me and Ringo, we-erm- we did some things…” George gripped the steering wheel.

“Things? What the hell does that mean, George?” Paul’s eyes darted around, then back to the younger guitarist. “Did you two…?” Paul raised both eyebrows, not knowing how to finish that sentence. George knew what he was implying, and gave a slow nod.

“I think we may actually be in love.” George admitted. Unable to comprehend what he was hearing, Paul shook his head in disbelief.

“I don’t think so, Geo.”

“What?”

“I think this apocalypse has gotten you all confused. You were never queer before, you said you were going to marry Pattie.” Paul said. “I’m just saying that maybe you’re just trying to replace her?”

“I’m not, Paul. I can’t replace Pattie, I never could.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t know, but I really do think it’s love.”

“But neither of you are queer, George. I know neither you or Ritchie are.” George grit his teeth, becoming frustrated.

“What’s it matter? The world’s ending, do you think I care, Paul?!” Paul flinched. Not wanting to cause more trouble between his bandmates, he murmured an apology. George sighed, and told him it was fine. “I-I know what I’m feeling, Paul.” he said before dropping the conversation entirely.

“Sorry.” he lied back.

And with that, Paul was gone from the world again.

\---

Paul came to again, this time not because of the external world. This time it was due to his own self. The pain inside him was becoming almost unbearable. No matter how much tried to stop his thoughts, and push back the disturbing memories of Brian and John’s words, it didn’t go away. He thought that bile should be rising in his throat from this sickness, but there was not. Groaning to himself, he turned his head from the window to the driver next to him. He was surprised to not see George, but John. It was as though it were only minutes since he last drifted off. Quickly, he shut his eyes, praying that John hadn’t noticed him.

“Sleep well?” John asked, mockery in his voice. Paul blinked a few times, before fully opening his eyes, knowing he was caught.

“I suppose…” Paul rubbed his head, and suppressed a yawn. He glanced outside and saw that they were at last in the country, outside of London. He was glad to see that, and figured that the last thing to do was find new shelter. “You…?” John gave a cold hum. Anger and irritation built up in Paul, until he couldn’t keep it down. “You’re not doing this to me, Lennon. You think I don’t know it’s all my fault, I don’t need you doing this to me.”

“Princess doesn’t want to face the consequences?” John commented, not taking his eyes off the road once.

“Stop calling me that. I’m not a bird.”

“Funny, you sure do act like one. Always needing a strong man.” Disgust dripped from John’s hurtful words.

“You think I like needing help??”

“You must since someone’s always got to save your arse for you.”

“Well I don’t.” John scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I don’t! You think you know everything, John, but you don’t know a damn thing!” John scoffed again, clearly trying to not turn his head to look at the bassist in the eyes. He squinted ahead, slightly swerving the

van. The now dark road ahead could only be seen with the help of the headlights of the vehicle. However there was only one actually working light, which hindered John’s sight of what was ahead even more.

“How about you shut up and try to see what it looks like ahead!”

“Looks like a fucking road.” Paul said in his impression of his bandmate.

“Nice pettiness, Princess.”

“I could say the same for you!” Paul retorted, the nickname grating on his nerves. John grit his teeth, stopping the van on the side of the road. Paul looked around and tilted his head in confusion.

“What’s going on?” a woken up George asked, poking his head up front. His hair was frazzled and there was a but of drool on his chin.

“Found something.” John pressed his finger to the glass. George and Paul narrowed their eyes to see into the darkness, finally seeing what John saw. A small house. George shook Ringo awake and brought him to lean over to the window. Ringo and George praised John for such a find while Paul quietly exited the van. The bassist did a full turn around to see if anything had followed them. Completely empty. Paul shuffled to the others soon after.

The four made their way up to the dingy building, stepping onto the porch. The wood creaked under their weight and looked to be at least ten years old. The windows had been boarded up, the door shut tight. John tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t turn.

“Shit…” John groaned. Paul found slight satisfaction in John’s frustration, even if it was also hurting the rest of them. John turned it harder, tearing the knob clean off. “Fucking Christ!” John slammed the separated door knob onto the ground. Paul suppressed a laugh, but John still noticed. He shot daggers at the bassist, before kicking his foot against the door. The door swung open, almost flying off of the hinges from the impact. John stared at the open door, then he turned his head with a lop-sided smile. He puffed out his chest.

“That’s how you do it, lads.” he said in a deep voice, specifically to George and Ringo, purposefully not facing Paul. The two praised John, but at the same time raised the question of how they would lock the door. “We’ll use a chair or something.” John dismissed. “Anyways, I don’t think many of those things will come out here.”

“You don’t know that.” Paul said, quietly. Ringo jumped up front next to John, not wanting the tension to increase.

“Why don’t we take a look inside, yeah?” he stepped inside, observing the first room. It was oddly reminiscent of the flat in which there was a large couch, with a small coffee table. Although, there was no chair, and in front of the couch and table was a small television. The antennas were bent in weird ways, with a thick layer of dust on the screen.

Taking another step inside, the entrance to the dining room could be seen. After the dining hall was a closed door, which could be assumed to be the entrance to the kitchen. The drummer hoped that there was food in there somewhere, but he tried to not get his hopes up as his stomach rumbled. His bandmates followed him inside, also looking about.

“Let’s check out the whole house. Make sure we’re alone, you know?” Ringo suggested. “Me and John can take a look upstairs, you two stay here.” Paul nodded, along with George. John simply followed Ringo to the narrow staircase to go upstairs.

The upstairs was fairly plain. One stretched hallway with three doors, each only lightly shut. After the last experience, Ringo was somewhat leery towards going into the rooms. As he never really did know what would be there. Still, the two bandmates stopped at the first door, carefully pushing it open to reveal it was only a simple bathroom. They continued to the next room. There was no light switch in this room, so they had no choice but to wander blindly in the room, feeling for a lamp. Ringo’s hands brushed the top of a drawer and slid over until finally feeling the familiar base of a lamp. He tugged on the hanging string and lit the room up. The light blue of the walls with small, shoddily painted clouds became visible. The room was a touch bigger, with three twin beds against the far back wall. Toys scattered the floor, ranging from teddy bears to toy trains.

John felt for a lamp or switch, finally locating one to flip on with the tip of his index finger. The light flickered before fully turning on. It was a master bedroom, clearly belonging to a married couple. A large, wooden drawer was on both sides of the room, and in between was a queen-sized bed, completely neat and made. Above the bed was a huge portrait of a family. There was a husband of average weight and height, with curly, dark hair that was strikingly similar to Brian’s. Next to him, a slightly smaller woman, her face was round, yet defined. Her body was not fully round, but curved, and her light hair just barely touched her shoulders. In front of the couple were three smiling boys, no older than ten years of age. They had the same dark hair as the man, whom was presumably their father, and wore their hair at the same short, almost curled length. It would be almost impossible to tell they were separate children, if not for the fact that they had different shirts. The portrait caused John’s blood to turn icy. The man’s resemblance to their deceased manager reignited the first spark of anger he felt towards his bandmate for running away.

“John, what’s wrong?” Ringo asked, noticing how John stared through the picture.

“Such an idiot.”

“What?”

“He should’ve known better.” John plopped onto the bed, rumpling the once crisp sheets underneath.

“Who?”

“Why didn’t he run when we did?” Ringo understood what John was referring to.

“He froze, John. Could’ve happened to any of us.”

“He sure didn’t have trouble running when it was too late.”

“John-“

“Don’t “John” me, Ritchie. You know that if he ran, Brian would still be alive.”

“I know, we all know, Paul especially knows. Don’t think he doesn’t, he told me himself.” the very mention of Paul’s name caused John to make a noise of disgust. “It won’t bring him back, you know. Being angry with Paul and all. We only have each other now.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” John slumped his shoulders. “Without Eppy, I don’t know how we’ll make it.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” was all the drummer could think of saying, squeezing John’s shoulder. John’s mixed expression of anger and despair remained as he stared into the family portrait.

George and Paul wandered throughout the living room, into the dining room and kitchen. A round table sat in the middle of the dining room, with a white and red checkered table cloth. Empty plates and utensils were set up in preparation for the next meal that would never come. A radio sat in the corner, propped on a stool. Paul took one of the white plates in his hand, turning it.

“What’s it like, Geo?” he abruptly asked. George questioned what he was referring to. “You and Ringo, you know? What’s it like?”

“It’s good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, I mean I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just nice to have this feeling alive inside you, especially right now. It kind of keeps me sane in a way.” George revealed. Paul nodded, the terrible feeling taking another stab in him. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason, just wondering…” said the bassist somberly. He almost wished he were in George’s place. He wanted that feeling for himself, he wanted to feel as good with another person again. Perhaps not with Ringo, but with someone he had a similar feeling with before. Dot, Jane...John. Confused as to why John came to his mind, Paul lightly hit the side of his head and followed George to the kitchen.

“At least they actually stocked up in here.” George opened one of the cupboards to reveal canned foods stuffed inside. The younger guitarist held out a can of green beans, licking his lips. Paul could feel own stomach pang from hunger, but he paid no mind to its signals. Feet were heard traveling down, and continuing to the dining room.

“Nothing upstairs.” Ringo assured, pointing his thumb back.

“Ritchie, look, the cupboards are stocked with food!” George pulled Ringo into the kitchen to show off their find, shutting the kitchen door behind them. Ringo gave him a wide grin, so glad to so much food for once.

“And there are beds upstairs too! Multiple ones.” Ringo told him. George threw his head back.

“Finally, a bed to myself.”

“What? You didn’t like sharing?” Ringo joked. George gave a cheeky smile and raised his eyebrows, trying to remain subtle. George placed a peck to Ringo’s cheek.

“Just excited to finally stretch my legs, love.” he chuckled. The shared a short, intimate kiss before chuckling to each other.

Meanwhile, just outside in the dining room, John and Paul stood at a distance awkwardly. They avoided eye contact, with Paul’s eyes glued to his shoes. Paul felt John take a few steps closer to him. Sensing him lean over near Paul’s face.

“Brian’s never coming back.” he half whispered, moving back a little. He let Paul stand there, still staring at the floor as his two if his bandmates conversed in the kitchen about something he could barely make out over his now rushing thoughts while John stood before him. His tone had barely a sign of malice, but the words themselves illustrated enough for Paul. A wave of emotion, which to any outsider, may look ridiculous and uncalled for, washed over him. Finally he spoke.

“What?”

“He’s not coming back, son, all there is to it.” John shrugged. “I know why you didn’t run and all. You froze.”

“John, you’re not doing this to me right now! Whatever it is you’re trying to do, you’re not going to!”

“I’m not trying to _do_ anything!” John defended himself, throwing his hands up.

“Oh really? Then why are you suddenly talking about this again? Trying to make me feel a bit more guilty? Well, Johnny, you’ve already done as much as you possibly could.” John pursed his lips, attempting to hush Paul, but he wouldn’t listen. “I know I killed him, John because I didn’t run! I don’t need a reminder, you fucking arsehole!”

“You’re such a stupid cunt! Do you ever fucking listen? I’m not trying to guilt trip you, but if you really want me to, I can completely oblige.”

“Don’t act like it’s not what you’ve been trying to do this whole time! Ignoring me, giving me dirty looks, those smart arse remarks!”

“At least I gave a shit about Brian’s life. You don’t care about anyone, but yourself.”

“So I’m selfish? How are Cynthia and Jules? Clearly because you haven’t mentioned them, they must be fine, right?” Paul asked, sarcastically.

“I could ask the same about Jane.” John grinned. Paul obviously didn’t like having his remark turned on him, as he gave John a slap to the face. His friend, now seeing red, collided his fist with the side of his face. Paul shot backwards, into the kitchen door with a thud. George and Ringo poked their heads out, instantly looking to the floor. Their eyes grew wide as the bassist sat there, blood dripping from his left nostril.

“Christ, Paul, are you alright?!” George and Ringo both asked, coming out and crouching beside him. Paul, still in shock from the blow, sat with his fingers trailing down the blood that made its way to his lips. The thick, coppery liquid sticking to the tips of his fingers.

“Gonna cry again? If we wanted a useless bird, we would’ve brought Jane instead!” John mercilessly threw at him. Paul came to, standing up with a hand over his nose.

“Maybe I should go if I’m so useless!”

“Please do! You’d be more useful _dead_!” John realized his mistake when he saw Paul’s face. He didn’t think his eyes could go wider and more hurt. Paul pushed his bandmates aside and made a break for the door.

“Fuck!” John exclaimed, following Paul back to the darkness of the outside.


	21. Chapter 21

John ran through the door, after the bassist. The dark, cool night surrounding them as they ran. Keeping his eyes on Paul, John saw his bandmate swing open the van door, and step into the driver’s seat. John couldn’t help but give a breathy laugh, stepping up to the slammed car door. He knocked on the window for Paul’s attention. The bassist’s eyes were shooting around the car, John knew what he was searching for. John gave another knock on the window, this time causing Paul to swiftly turn his head, blood still remaining on his face. Reaching into his pocket, John presented the keys, jingling them around. Paul stared, first dumbstruck, then it became a burning glare. He mouthed “fuck you” through the glass over and over, soon he actually began to shout it, his hand banging against the window. John found it amusing, yet disturbing to see the normally composed Paul McCartney act in such a way. A frustrated groan came from Paul as he crawled to the other side of the van and jumped out. He began a brisk walk away in the direction they originally came from, only to be followed by John. The space between them was becoming smaller and smaller.

“Paul, calm down, I didn’t mean that!”

“Fuck off! You finally said what you wanted to say, and you’re getting what you want!” Paul shouted back, arms swinging by his sides. He wiped at the blood under his nose on his sleeve, not glancing back at John. It was his turn to turn his back.

“Where would you even go?!”

“Why should you care?! Maybe I’ll go back to London!”

“You’re going to get yourself killed if you do that!” John objected, pushing himself closer.

“Good, then I’ll finally be useful!”

“For Christ’s sake, Paul!” John reached out, grabbed Paul, and pulled him closer.

“LET GO OF ME, YOU FUCKING PRICK!” Paul screamed, attempting to squirm away. John held his friend tighter, having no intention of letting him go until he spoke.

“NO! Listen to me! All I was saying was that I know why you ran!”

“FUCK YOU!” he spat.

“You were just scared, you didn’t know what to do!” John began struggling to keep Paul in place. Paul wriggled and writhed in his grasp, attempting to loosen his grip.

“I thought it was because I was a SELFISH COWARD!”

“No, I didn’t mean that! I was just upset about Brian! I know you, Paul, I know that if you could have you wouldn’t have left Bri! You’d never leave any of us!” Paul stopped wriggling, and stared at his friend’s face. How it softened as he practically looked through Paul. “You’re my best mate.” he added. Paul’s body quaked while being pulled into John’s embrace. John felt Paul draw a shaky breath, shuddering under his touch. One of his hands went to cover his eyes as warm tears fell from them. Paul pressed

himself against John’s body, allowing a few hiccups and gasps to escape. John soothingly rubbed his back, allowing him to weep.

“I didn’t want to leave him.” Paul whimpered. “I didn’t mean to get him killed…”

“I know, I’m a stupid git.” John cooed. Paul shook his head.

“You had the right to be angry. I know you were c-close.”

“I shouldn’t have treated you like shit, though. He was your manager too.”

“I’m sorry...” he sobbed, his voice hoarse. John gave his back another rub, apologizing as well. “I’m sorry I brought up Cyn and Julian…”

“I’m sorry I brought up Jane.” John rested his chin on Paul’s shoulder before pulling away. Removing the hand from his eyes, Paul swiped the tears away one last time. John, noticing that a light layer of dry blood remained on Paul’s upper lip, pointed to his own lip.

“You’ve got a little something right here, son.” John said. Paul chuckled, for the first time in so long, that heavy feeling was lifted. John grinned back, allowing his fingers to graze Paul’s unshaven cheek. As if a force were pushing him, John leaned in and pressed his lips to Paul’s. It was a short kiss, more one-sided as he imagined Paul was too caught off guard to do anything. Paul didn’t melt into the kiss, or kiss back, he only stood completely still. John realized just what he was doing, and quickly broke off of the bassist.

“I love you.” John whispered, beginning to feel embarrassed.

“What did you say?” Paul’s eyes were wide, and his face was flushed. John, unsure of what to say, stood awkwardly. He now thought that maybe that was a mistake. He had no time to think on it, though as the left behind bandmates caught up to them.

“What happened?! Is Paul okay?!” George asked.

“No, I fed him to my zombie, Fido, but not before giving him a black eye.” John quipped. Paul gave another laugh, assuring George that he was fine.

“Have you made up then?” asked the drummer, glancing to the flustered guitarist and bassist. They both mumbled a “yes.” John saw how awkward and shy Paul was, looking everywhere, but at him. His face was still pink. And his lips were slightly parted. The sight would be gorgeous to John if it weren’t for how uncomfortable he seemed.

“Then can we finally go back and have something to eat?” George asked, pointing his thumb behind him. “My stomach has been growling all day!”

“What else is new?” John joked, wiping his sleeve against his lips. He quickly looked at Paul, then back to George. From what he saw, Paul was biting his thumbnail, his face still pink. John mentally slapped himself. He had managed to patch things up, yet rip it apart in nearly a minute.

When they got back to the home, it was luckily still empty. The group took their places at the already set table, George and Ringo sitting next to each other, John took his seat on the other side of the table. Paul searched on the two sides of the table, finally deciding to sit next to the younger guitarist. The clear avoidance was painful to the older guitarist.

“I’m going to get the food.” Ringo told them, only to be followed by John.

“I’ll come with you, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself carrying all that weight.” Ringo shrugged and went into the kitchen with John.

Opening the cupboard, Ringo still could not believe that all that food was there. He thought that it had to be his imagination. But that was proved wrong by John reaching over him to grab a can to examine it. He looked it over, trying to seem fully interested when his mind was still on Paul. He wondered if Paul was angry with him, or even afraid of him now. Or even if Paul thought John would try something on him.

“Something wrong?” Ringo broke the silence. “You’re looking over those canned peaches awfully close.”

“It’s Paul.”

“I thought you two made up? You’re still angry?”

“No, no, that’s not it.” the drummer urged him to say what it was. John at last gave in and told his bandmate. “I kissed him out there.”

“You kissed him?”

“Doesn’t stop there, son. I threw in an “I love you” on top of that as he was having an emotional breakdown.” John groaned, covering his face with his free hand.

“Do you?” asked the drummer. “Do you love Paul like that?”

John took his hand away from his face. “I do.” he shamefully admitted, feeling like a teenage girl. He turned from his bandmate, not daring to see his face. “Go on and laugh, Ritchie, I know you want to.”

“I don’t want to laugh, John. I don’t care if your queer because,,, I think I’m a bit queer myself.” now it was John’s turn to interrogate.

“What are you going on about?” he took his time turning to face Ringo. Ringo took a breath, and gave a quick explanation. He told John about how the relationship between George and him grew greatly during their time at the flat, after Pattie’s death. John stood and listened, taking it all in. He didn’t have a feeling of disgust like he expected to have at first. Not that he was any better, but hearing about two of your own mates suddenly being together was something that would take anyone back. Once his friend finished his explanation, John took another minute to think to himself before speaking.

“So have you fucked?” he bluntly asked, causing Ringo to almost choke on his own spit. The drummer then shyly smiled, giving a light cough. “You randy fucks!” John laughed. “I knew you two couldn’t be trusted alone!” the two shared a laugh before John turned serious again.

“So, do you think Paul will be fine?”

“John, I’m sure he will be. Even if he isn’t interested, he’ll get over it.” Ringo smiled. “Could you look in one of the drawers for a can opener.” Ringo added, indicating the drawers under the counter. John did so, pulling the first one, and finding it on top of a pile of forks and knives.

“Think so, Ritch?” Ringo nodded, grabbing two canned peaches. John also took two cans as well, along with the can opener. They returned to the dining room, proudly presenting their cans.

“Get lost?” George questioned, impatiently.

“Yeah, took a wrong turn and ended up in the freezer. Thankfully, Ritchie was small enough to wriggle out and get help.” John placed his two cans on the white table, using the can opener, and then passing it to Ringo. Each member was given their own can. They knew this could not be a regular thing, especially if they wanted to make their food last, but they figured one time wouldn’t hurt. Especially since hunger was eating away at them so terribly at this point. The slimy peaches slipped onto their plates, staining the once clean glass with juice. The boys didn’t care, instantly digging in.

Once finished, the plates and utensils were taken to the kitchen, and put into the sink. From the faucet, a small spurt of water came out, and then it became a drip. Opening the fridge, which no longer seemed to be on, they saw it was filled with water bottles. They all agreed not to waste such a valuable thing on washing dishes.

“I could go for a kip then.” Paul said with a yawn. The other three nodded.

“There are four beds upstairs. Three in a room, one in the other.” Ringo said. Paul hummed. John could tell Paul wanted to speak up and say that he would take the lone bed. The older guitarist figured that Paul thought he’d jump on him in his sleep.

“I’m taking the one on its own.” John said before Paul could.

“You sure?” Ringo asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been dreaming about not having to hear your snoring at night for once.” Ringo rolled his eyes, already knowing the real motivation for John. With that, the boys headed upstairs, except for George, who offered to take the first shift to keep watch.

John went to his own room, not bothering to turn on the lights. Taking out his contacts, he placed them on the bedside drawer before flopping onto the bed. With a groan into the pillow, John drifted off.

“Psst! John! John!” a quiet voice said, shaking John. “Johnny, wake up!” John grumbled to himself, rolling over. Prior to opening his eyes, he already could tell it was Paul.

“What…?” he mumbled, reaching for his contacts. He blinked and squinted in the fading darkness to see Paul.

“I want to talk.” a stone dropped into John’s stomach.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” John said, trying to put it off as long as possible. John rolled over, his back to Paul. Paul, shaking his head, pulled John back to face him.

“Please, Johnny?” John sighed, he could practically hear Paul’s eyelashes fluttering.

“Fine, what is it?”

“Were you serious?” Paul began. “What you said and all?”

“I say a lot of things, Paul.”

“You know what I mean.” John paused. He felt the weight on the bed shift as the bassist sat down next to him. John sat up, bringing his knees to his chest. He wished he could see Paul’s face a bit better, but at the same time was glad he didn’t. It would make this all ten times more difficult.

“Yeah, Macca I meant it.”

“How long have you been hiding this?”

“Somewhere around the time we met. Everything about you seemed so perfect, your eyes, your body, your voice, but I knew you weren’t like that. So I didn’t bother scaring you off.” John shrugged his shoulders, running a hand through his messy hair. “Guess it had to happen eventually. Especially since who knows what will happen to us at this rate.”

“Don’t think like that, John.” the two simultaneously looked to the floor. “You didn’t scare me off, by the way. You just got me a little off guard. I wasn’t necessarily expecting you to do that.” Paul chuckled.

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll try forcing myself on you?”

“Now that you mention it…” Paul playfully rubbed his chin, and gave his friend a light slap. “I know you wouldn’t do that, John. I think I know you inside and out by now to know you would never.”

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“No, there’s one more thing.” John tilted his head, not sure what else there was. He felt Paul move closer to him. “I think I love you too.” he whispered.

“You what?”

“This whole apocalypse has got everything all fucked up, but when I was near you it didn’t feel like that. I’ve had these odd feelings. When I thought you were completely done with me, it hurt. Not that I wouldn’t feel awful if George or Ringo were that angry with me, but when it was you, it was on a whole other level. I didn’t understand, and then George told me about him and Rings…”

“You know too?”

“George told me on the drive. He said that they were in love and how good it was, but I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, they’re mates, they’ve had girlfriends, but I never thought they’d go for blokes let alone each other.” Paul said, playing with a button on his shirt. “But the more I thought about it, the more I began to connect the dots that maybe they could truly be in love. That George could still love Pattie and Ritch at the same time. And call me selfish, but I wanted that happiness that George has with him.”

“Is this your coming out speech to how you want to fuck Ritchie? ‘Cause if so, you’re telling the wrong person.” John snorted.

“No, that’s just it. When I heard George talk about how good it was, I wanted that, but when I thought about who I’d want that feeling with, you came up.” John raised his head to Paul, becoming eye level. The darkness of the night was giving away to the morning, revealing the shape of Paul’s face more than before. “I didn’t know why, but your name came to mind. Now I think I know.” Paul said, leaning in to John’s face. The older guitarist recoiled at first, but stopped himself when he felt Paul’s breath touching his face. It took all of John’s strength to take hold of Paul’s shoulders and hold him back.

“Are you sure, Macca? Don’t do this because of what I want.” John said, only to be silenced by Paul pushing his arms away, and latching onto John’s lips. John melted into the kiss, feeling Paul’s travel up and down his sides. He wrapped his arms around Paul’s hips, rolling on the bed until Paul was being pressed into the mattress. The bassist swiped his tongue across John’s bottom lip, asking for access. John obliged, allowing their tongues to slide together. They both tasted of the sweet syrup of the canned peaches that remained on their tongues. John sucked on Paul’s tongue, causing the bassist under him to shudder.

John grunted in surprise as Paul pulled him, and swapped their places. His bandmate, now between his legs above him, looked down in triumph. John’s expression faltered as he bounced against the creaking bed.

“Something wrong?” Paul asked. John chuckled, shaking his head.

“Not exactly the position I pictured being in."

“That a problem?”

“I’ve waited too long for it to be a problem.” John wrapped his arms around Paul’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss. Giggling against John’s lips, Paul put John’s legs around his sides, bumping their crotches together.

“You bastard. Is sex all you think about?”

“After going days without it, yes.” Paul cheekily answered. John didn’t recognize what was causing Paul to glow so greatly, but he remembered that it was the light of the rising sun. It had felt like forever since the sunlight shined through the clouds. John became visibly distracted by this, turning to the open window on the left side.

“Johnny?” Paul asked, concerned.

“The sun’s out, Paul.” he said, his face becoming sullen.

“So? It does that everyday.”

“But it’s out now. During all this shite, it’s out shining like any normal day.” John said. “I don’t know, Macca. It just reminds me how little we actually matter.”

“John…” Paul barely saw this side of his friend. He didn’t want to see this side. The side that sounded so lost and even scared.

“Mal and Neil didn’t matter, Brian didn’t matter, and we don’t matter. The world just goes on with or without us.” Paul turned John’s head to face him, his fingers lingered on his cheek.

“Of course it does, Johnny, it always will, but that doesn’t mean we don’t matter. We matter to each other, we matter to others. Brian, Mal, and Neil mattered to us. Ringo and George matter to us. You matter to me.” Paul said, never thinking he would say the word “matter” this many times in one breath. Paul leaned down to press another kiss to his bandmate’s thin lips.

“Are you trying to make me feel better so I’ll have sex with you.” John waggled his eyebrows as Paul feigned hurt.

“Drat! You’ve uncovered my plan.”

“I can read you like a book, son.” This time they both couldn’t help but giggle, pressing close to each other in an embrace. In the embrace, Paul seemed a bit stiff and nervous. Most likely still getting used to the new feeling of being with his best mate. John’s fingers found Paul’s hair, lightly digging into his scalp. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to soothe him. The bassist purred at the massage on his scalp, leaning into the touch. It was then that the door was opened by George, yelping at the sight that was completely unexpected.

“Christ, guys, come on!” George cried.

“You have no right to talk, Harrison! We know what you and Ritchie were up to back at the flat!” John retorted, not moving from under Paul, with his legs still around his torso.

“Yeah, but at least we waited until you were gone!” he said, his eyes shielded by his fingers. Opening one while moving two fingers apart, he was relieved that his friends were still fully clothed.  Once sure they were, he took his hand away and alerted John that it was his turn. John threw his head back against the pillow, grimacing.

“You’ve waited this long, you can wait a bit longer.” Paul whispered with a sly grin. He moved off of John, who was busy concealing the small bulge in his pants. George tried to not make it obvious that he saw.

“Acts like he’s never seen this before.” John muttered to himself when the sound of a door slamming invaded. Footsteps could be heard slowly journeying around the bottom floor. The three wondered if it was another survivor, or a lone infected that found them. They even began to suspect that Mal sniffed them out and followed, and if that were the case, more would be coming. Though, a howl or cry never erupted, only a loud, gruff voice.

“Who’s here?!” the voice called. “Come on out!” The boys became pale, unsure of who this newcomer was, or if he was violent. They had to find out, they couldn’t hide upstairs forever.

“Geo, you go get Ritchie in case we need to leave quickly. Me and John will go downstairs.” Paul ordered. George obeyed, hurrying out as quiet as he possibly could. As the voice once again called for them, John and Paul took their time going down the steps. John led the way, staying close, almost his back against Paul’s stomach as the voice got closer.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I was finally able to write up another chapter while getting through classes! This is a bit shorter, but I want to thank you all for being so understanding what with class and all. I'll try to get up another chapter on time next Monday, but for now I hope you enjoy this chapter!

John kept the lead, his bare feet creaking against the wood. Paul stayed behind, his hand firmly on his shoulder. They reached the floor when the man called for them again, his voice reverberating around the room. The two involuntarily quaked at his voice.  

“You think he’s armed?” Paul whispered, clutching onto his friend.  

“I hope not, Macca.” John said. 

“Where are you?! I know you’re here!” he stomped over into the living room, stopping as he saw the two musicians. John recognized the man, he was from the family portrait. Only now, he was a bit skinnier, and his hair seemed thinner. The man looked them up and down, studying them. He especially eyed up John, as though something about the older guitarist bugged the man. His eyes held on John’s face the most. Finally he spoke to them. 

“You both smell terrible, when was the last time you bathed?” he asked, thin face scrunching up as he sniffed the air again. John and Paul exchanged looks, not expecting such a statement.   

“Wait until he smells George or Ringo.” John said in a hushed tone into Paul’s ear. No offense, mister,” John began to say, turning to him, “but you don’t smell any better.” John said, becoming aware of the man’s strong smell of smoke.  

“I was in my cellar working! What were you doing?” he asked defensively, raising an eyebrow.  

“Mister, we just needed a place to go while this whole apocalypse is going on.” Paul explained.  

“And so you raid my kitchen and leave a mess in the sink?!” he pointed to the kitchen, exasperted.  

“The water wasn’t running! Would you rather us use your drinking water?” John retorted. Paul’s eyes darted between them, he didn’t want this man to become another Smith in which he completely hates them. The bassist knew they couldn’t get thrown out again. If help were actually to come to London, they would be too far away to make it if they kept going. The man sighed, rubbing his forehead.  

“No, I’d rather have sticky dishes than no drinking water.” the man was surprisingly calm and mature about it all. 

“So, can we stay?” Paul shamelessly asked. “It looks like you’ve got enough for a few more?” 

“A few?” 

“There are two more.” Paul admitted. The man looked to the floor, deep in thought they figured. His eyes blanked out as he stared. He then shrugged and agreed. The two thanked him, going to the staircase to retrieve George and Ringo. John put a hand next to his mouth and called for them.  

“Oh, boys! We haven’t been slaughtered, it’s alright!” the curly haired man couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“He’s got quite the sense of humor.” he said to the bassist. “That’s how Molly was.” he said, then immediately went quiet, as though he said something wrong. Paul questioned what he had just told him, but the man shook his head and dropped it. The younger guitarist and drummer came down the steps, each giving a reluctant smile towards the man. They both gave his hand a shake as his eyes wandered between the boys. 

“I would offer you something to eat, but it seems that you’ve helped yourselves already.” he chuckled. The four gave awkward smiles, shifting their feet.  

“Thanks, mister, but we were actually hoping to get some sleep.” George shyly said.  The man just gave a warm smile, which was so rare anymore, and nodded.  

“Go ahead. I’ll be up for a little so I’ll keep an eye out.” he waved them off. They would’ve argued that they couldn’t let him stay up by himself, but they were too tired. So they simply nodded, and made their way back to the rooms.   

As George and Ringo walked into the one bedroom, Paul was halted by John in the hallway. Paul silently questioned what John had wanted, but knew instantly when he saw the older guitarist chuckle and tilt his head to the bedroom. Paul smiled and shook his head. 

“Horny bastard.” Paul whispered, caressing John’s face, a finger lingering on his thin lips. “Are you trying to get us caught, Lennon?” he said, the gentle fingers now pushing John’s face away. 

“Come on, Paul, George and Ritch are probably going at it right now. The man will hear Ritchie breathing through his nose before he hears us.” John argued with a pouting face. Paul pulled back from John with clear discomfort. 

“I just don’t want to tonight, John.” 

“Why? As I recall you were the one between my legs earlier before our little interruption.” John held the bassist by the hips, squeezing them. 

Paul shrugged uncomfortably, removing John's hands. “It’s just weird with the bloke downstairs, y’know?” 

“Afraid he might walk in to see our cocks down each other’s throat?” John jabbed. “Paul, he won’t even know if we’re quiet. Remember those birds I took to closets or the loo? We never got caught!” 

“I don’t care, it’s different for us and you know it. We can’t just fuck around especially since we finally found a new place to stay. I’m not going to throw it way, it wouldn’t be fair to Geo or Ritch. I just don’t want to do it tonight.” Paul asserted. 

“If not tonight then when? You don’t know what might happen tomorrow.” he argued. John didn't want to be like this, but when would they get another chance? Neither of them knew for sure what the next day would bring. They could all be dead by the morning for all they knew. 

“John, please not tonight. Not right now.” Paul pleaded. John wanted to protest against Paul in hopes to change his mind, but Paul was using those big eyes of his. The innocent, shining eyes that made John fall for him. John sighed and hung his head. 

“Alright, Paul, not tonight.” Paul kissed the guitarist’s cheek, then nuzzled it. He thanked him before wishing him good night as they separated into the two rooms. John wished his friend good night as well, turning into the other bedroom. 

 Wrapping himself up in the warm duvet, he contemplated wanking to let out some frustration, but he decided against it. Although he tried to fall back asleep, some force kept him from doing so. He didn’t have any feeling of worry or fear at the moment, so it was unknown to what kept him awake. After numerous minutes spent trying to keep his eyes shut, he shrugged off the duvet and headed back downstairs.  

Seeing that the man was not in the living room, he ventured into the dining room, where he was revealed to be sitting at the table, staring down at something. His chin rested on one hand as the other held a cup of hot tea. John jumped when the man turned to him suddenly, knowing that John was in fact there. He smiled and urged John to sit down. Doing so, he sat across from the man, wondering just how he got his tea hot as he watched the light steam rise. The man raised the cup to his lips, making eye contact with John. 

“Everyone asleep?” he asked. 

“Yeah, they’ve all gone off to bed.” 

“Tea?” he asked. 

“Sure.” John said with a dismissive wave. The man stood and walked to the kitchen. Peeking into the kitchen, John saw the man pour a bottle of water into the kettle, turn the burner on, and hold out a match. With a swipe, he lit the match and held the flame to the burner. 

“How do you like your tea?” he asked, catching John off guard.  

“Uh, no milk, t-“ 

“Two sugars.” he finished for the older guitarist. 

“Psychic are we?” John cracked a grin. 

“No, I’ve just heard that for so long.” he smiled back. John, not able to respond, turned back to the dining room. He peered over the table and spotted just what the man was staring at; a photo of the man and the same family sitting on the grass. John’s fingers lightly touched the photo, then took hold of it to bring it closer. There were visible fingerprints on the photo, with small tears at the corners. Turning the photo, he noticed that there were names written on the back. Alex, Joseph, Ralph, Molly… 

“Desmond.” he read aloud, sure that that was the name of the man. 

“Yes?” the man questioned, proving the older guitarist correct. Quickly, John put the photo back in its place. 

“Nothing.” John shook his head, taking a seat. The man, now to John’s knowledge as Desmond, held his smiling gaze on John before turning back to the kitchen. John stared at the picture across from him. His eyes stayed unmoving as he heard the sound of whistling from the kitchen, only to be followed by Desmond coming back to the dining room. He placed the cup of hot tea in front of John. 

“That you in the picture?” John asked, sipping his drink.  

“Yes, of course.” he said, matter of factly. “Granted the photo has gotten a bit ruined, kids you know? They love to mess around.” he chuckled. John nodded. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to them?” Desmond tilted his head. 

“That’s quite a silly question.” 

“Silly?” John raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,  _silly_.” he answered firmly. 

“You don’t have to answer, mister.” John brought the cup to his lips again. 

“I won’t because it’s a ridiculous question!” his voice sounded thick with tension as he banged his balled up fist against the table, causing it to shake. The guitarist had almost dropped his cup from the sudden outburst, but held onto it tightly. Only a bit of the hot tea landed on his knee, causing him to give a short yelp.

“I’m sorry. Jesus.” John muttered, wiping at his pant leg. Desmond’s face suddenly softened as he shook his head. 

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for raising my voice. Oh, and now look what I've done, you've burned yourself!” the man said, actually sounding remorseful for what he had done. Desmond’s politeness surprised John. It had been so long since they ran into someone who didn’t treat them terribly for once. The man actually showed them some respect which was a breath of fresh air.

"It's fine, really. I've had worse." John downed the rest of his tea, wanting to get back to the bed all of the sudden. He thanked Desmond as he stood. “Aren’t you going to sleep?” John questioned.  

“No, I’d rather you four get some rest.” he stood up as well, photo in hand. The older guitarist thanked him again, and received a weird pat on his back that was a bit too low for comfort. He swore he felt Desmond’s hand continue lower to give his backside a pat, but convinced himself that it was an innocent accident. John told the man good night, and awkwardly rushed away. 

Pushing what he thought just happened away, John stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. As his body fell, he was not met with a soft duvet, but rather something a bit different. 

“Oof!” said whatever was now under him. Surprised, John pushed himself up to find out just who exactly it was.  

“Could’ve given a warning.” said the familiar voice of Paul.  

“Thought you were in your own bed?” 

“I wanted to surprise you and decided to wait when I saw you weren’t in here.”  

“Surprise me with what? Thought you didn’t want to commit such filthy acts, Sister Mary Macca.”  

“Can’t I change my mind after waking up in the middle of the night?”  

John clicked his tongue. “Too horny to sleep? I thought you were taught better.” 

“Thought wrong, Johnny.” Paul retorted, though it began to sound like he didn’t mean it as he put on his sing song tone. He then pulled the guitarist down for a kiss, suckling on his bottom lip. 

“Aren’t you worried your screams for my cock will get is caught?” Paul slapped John’s side harder than a playful slap. 

“Shut up.” Paul hissed. John could barely see in the dark room, but knew Paul's face was red from that.

“I was only saying what we’re both thinking, dear.”  he answered with a pitchier voice as he put a finger to his lips. "After all, weren't you scared he'd hear us?"

“We’ll just have to keep quiet I suppose.” Paul sounded uncertain about this, like he was forcing himself into this. The older guitarist caught on to this quickly, and realized what Paul was trying to do. He was forcing himself to keep John from getting angry with him again. John felt a bit sick that his anger would bring Paul to do that.

“Paul, we don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to pretend to want this to make me happy.” John said, gently pushing Paul away. He wasn’t about to risk getting caught all because Paul thought he had to have sex with him. No, if it were going to happen, he’d rather at least have the knowledge that Paul wanted it just as badly.  

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” Paul mumbled, feeling embarrassed.  

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Macca.”  

“You’re not mad, are you? I know how much you really want to-“ 

“I’m not mad, Paul. I’m sure my prick won’t fall off just yet from blue balls.”  John hoped that would get a laugh, but Paul di nothing of the sort besides crack a small grin.

“You sure?”  

“Yes, Paul. We can have sex when you want to. Hell, I’d wait until the sun burns out if you wanted me to.” John, collapsing next to the bassist, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. Warmth enveloped the two as they shared an intimate kiss. Curling up against John, Paul hummed against his lips. He allowed John’s tongue to invade his mouth and lick the roof of his mouth. Paul suckled on the rubbery tongue. John separated himself from Paul with a wide grin. Paul nuzzled the crook of John’s neck, his arms rested on the older guitarist’s hips. The bassist’s breathing steadied as his body relaxed. 

“Now, what would our host say if he were to walk in on us doing this, Paulie?” John clucked. 

“Tell him it was for warmth.” Paul mumbled almost incoherently. John was about to come back with a witty remark, but stopped when he heard Paul’s soft snoring. John couldn’t believe how fast it took the bassist to fall asleep, and he almost envied him. Though, if John were asleep, he would be unable to take a moment to look at Paul’s calm face so close to his. Smiling to himself, John kissed his small nose one last time before merging their bodies in an embrace. The warmth created between the two satisfied him as much as sex could at that time. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the chapter's actually on time!! Happy Halloween, and thanks again for reading!

The next day came, the sun pouring through the curtains of the bedroom. George groaned as the light hit his face, pulling the covers over his head, and curling up. Ringo, however, was already awake, stretching and loudly yawning. He blinked away the blurriness in his eyes and looked to the beds next to him. The one he saw Paul claim last night was empty. Ringo figured where he went to, knowing what was between him and John. Ringo then saw George, the covers over his head as he attempted to fall back asleep. The drummer chuckled, slipping off the twin bed, and tip toeing to where the younger guitarist was. Grabbing the boy's form, the drummer startled George into throwing the duvet back, exposing himself. 

"Prick!" George said, throwing the pillow at Ringo's face. 

"Sorry." he chuckled. "But it's morning." 

"So? It's always morning somewhere." George grumbled. 

"Yeah, but we shouldn't just sleep the entire day, should we?" 

"We could." George pointed out with a snicker. 

"But we shouldn't." Ringo retorted, beginning to drag George out of bed. 

"Alright, alright, I'm moving!" George forced himself up, muttering under his breath. It had been a long time since they were actually able to get a full night of sleep, and it seemed that George wasn’t ready to let go of that bed just yet. Chuckling, Ringo pressed a kiss to George’s cheek, messing his already messy bed head. George pushed him away, sticking his tongue out at the drummer. 

“Let’s get some brekky, yeah?” Ringo suggested. 

“Fine, but if John and Paul are still asleep, I’m thumping you.” George shook his fist, cracking a grin. They grabbed their shoes and any articles if their tattered clothes they took off before going to sleep, and went next door to get John and Paul.  

“I really hope they’re not having sex.” George whispered to Ringo as he pushed the bedroom door open.  George exhaled when he saw that they were in each other’s arms,  almost fully clothed. George lightly smacked Ringo’s arm, holding up to his promise. They took a couple steps in and called for them to wake up. A grumble fell from John as he waved them off. They tried again, and this time Paul opened his eyes.  

“Is this our wake up call?” Paul rubbed his eye, and moved John’s arms that surrounded him. John frowned, popping one eye open. “Come on, Johnny. Get up” 

“Can’t we have five more minutes?” John requested with a mumble. Paul shook his head, moving out of the bed. John pouted. “What, no morning kiss?” John puckered his lips. With a roll of his eyes, Paul urged for John to get up. John sighed, and threw the covers over.  

“So now that we’re awake, shall we greet our host and hope he’s got scrambled eggs ready?” John questioned, stretching.  

"I'd settle for burnt toast." Ringo said as the four walked out of the bedroom to the downstairs. 

Desmond sat on the couch, eating a can of peaches out of the can when he saw the boys. He greeted them good morning, but then followed up with a crinkle of his nose.  

"If only the water was on." he said to himself. He looked them up and down with a disapproving eye, his tongue clicking. "I don't understand why you keep wearing those same clothes. They're falling apart." Desmond shook his head, eating a spoonful of fruit.  

"We don't have anything else, mister." George said after sniffing himself.  

"There are clothes upstairs in your bedroom that should fit perfectly well!" he retorted, causing the boys to glance at each other in confusion. Desmond then shifted his eyes to John. “And it especially doesn’t seem like you to wear an outfit into the ground.” 

“Sorry?” John answered. Desmond shook his head. 

“It’s fine. You can always change later.” John shrugged, walking with the others to fetch something to eat. Desmond followed, taking his new place at the dining room table. They returned, not with each holding their own can, but rather two of them holding one can each. John figured it would be better than wasting more food so quickly, and suggested they simply share. John and Paul shared a can, while George and Ringo shared the other. 

“Good idea.” Desmond praised.  

“Of course, all my ideas are good. Right, Macca?” Paul, a piece of syrup-covered pineapple stuffed in his mouth, attempted to retort.  

“Don’t you know how to swallow your food?” Desmond scolded somewhat playfully. 

“Yes, don’t you know how to swallow?” Paul almost choked, catching onto John’s dirty innuendo. Paul, swallowing his food, chuckled, and finally answered John in a low voice. 

“It appears that I do.” Desmond was oblivious to the context of John and Paul’s conversation, and simply nodded. 

“How did you sleep?” he asked the boys. 

“Best in a long time.” Ringo said, scooping a piece of fruit out of the can. Just as he went to do so, George did as well, both going into the can at the same time. 

“Git, I was getting one first.” George said, trying to move his hand.  

“I’m sure we went at the same time, Geo.” Ringo retorted.  

“I dunno about that, I think you’re seeing things.” Desmond snapped over at the two, his eyes widened for a second, then went back to normal.  

“Boys, please.” he scolded. “Is it that difficult to take turns?” he raised an eyebrow. George grew a touch pink. 

“I suppose not.” he mumbled, withdrawing his hand, and giving the drummer a shy smile.  

“And how did you sleep?” Desmond asked, indicating John.  

“Fine, back’s a bit aching.” John griped.  

“Do you want me to help you with that?” Desmond asked with a smirk. 

“It’s fine, I’m sure Paul could help me.” he said in a quieter voice as Paul snickered. 

“What?” Desmond quickly asked. John shook his head and told him it was nothing. Desmond had no choice but to nod and hum. 

“Did anything happen last night?” Paul asked. “Any infected?” 

“Nothing to worry about. Not a single one in site. They all migrated to the cities.” the man answered, pushing his can to the side. The four were a bit relieved to hear that, knowing now that they could finally relax. John quickly jabbed at the last piece of pineapple and stuffed it into his mouth, receiving a fake glare from the bassist.  John gave a cheeky smile as he chewed the fruit. The familiar sound of a whistle blowing caused Desmond and the boys to look at the kitchen. 

“I put a little bit of tea on. Would you mind getting it?” Desmond asked John. John didn’t understand why Desmond would ask him, but was too tired to argue. The older guitarist nodded, pushing his chair out, and going into the kitchen. 

“Shouldn’t we be saving that water instead of using it for tea?” George sheepishly asked. Desmond assured him that they would be fine, as it was only one bottle. John returned, a tray in his hands with a kettle and a few cups on it. He stood next to Desmond and placed it down. Desmond wrapped an arm around John’s waist to pull him closer. John yelped and pulled away. Paul, George, and Ringo looked to each other, confused by the sight. Desmond looked equally confused, but thanked John and began to pour himself a cup. He offered tea to the others, they each accepted, including John who hurried back to sit next to Paul. 

“Do you think you’ll ever go put to London or any of the cities?” asked George. Desmond shook his head. 

“So why stay out here?” Ringo gained the courage to ask. “I mean with all the talk of America coming?”  

“Why take the chance and throw yourself into the havoc, boy?” Desmond answered. “It will all blow over eventually, like everything does.” the statement was incredibly naïve sounding to the boys, who went through the horrors of the pandemic. They knew first hand that there was little chance of it brushing by like a common flu. 

“What if it doesn’t?” 

“He’s got a point.” John defended Ringo. Desmond frowned disapprovingly.  

“It will, I know it will.” he stared with firmness.  

“And if it doesn’t?” John leaned forward, that spark of defiance in his eyes.  

“It will.” Desmond repeated. 

“I didn’t ask if it will. I asked if it doesn’t.” John began to grow annoyed, lifting himself out of the chair, to lean forward more. 

“It means nothing because that. Won’t. Happen.”  

“No, it means we’ll have lost our only chance of living, and slowly die.” John snarled. 

“You’d better sit back down, and close your mouth.” Desmond warned. “I don’t appreciate being talked to like this after all I’ve done for you!” 

“Mister,” Paul began, only to be shot down by Desmond’s cold stare snap to him.  

“All I’m saying is that you’re hurting yourself by doing that.”  

“John.” Paul grit his teeth, tugging on the older guitarist’s arm. “This isn’t the time for a moment.” John yanked his arm back. 

“Enough.” Desmond said, eerily calmly.  

“I’m not trying to start anything. I’m just stating what’s true!” 

“That’s enough!” Desmond hit his fist against the table, causing his cup to tip, spilling and staining the white tablecloth. “You are living under MY ROOF, eating the food I BOUGHT! So you better listen and listen good! We are not leaving to chase some false hope, so you’d better drop it!” the four went quiet when they saw the pure rage on Desmond’s face. Even John, sat back down, and became silent. Desmond released a long sigh. “I’m sorry, I need to be alone for a little. I think I’ll step outside, clean this mess.”  And with that, Desmond gathered himself from the table, and walked out of the door, massaging his forehead.  

“Should someone go after him?” Ringo asked. 

“Nah, let him calm down a bit, yeah?” Paul said.  

“Yeah, no shit, he needs to. While he’s at it, he needs a few more brain cells.” John muttered.  

“John, stop, we can’t get thrown out because you have to lose your temper.” Paul told him. 

“Yeah, John, can’t you just keep that mouth of yours quiet for once?!” George added.  

“What, and be like you?” John jabbed.  

“At least the old man doesn’t want to bum me!”  

“No, you’ve got Ringo for that.” John retorted. George blushed lightly.  

“Okay, but really, that was a bit odd.” Ringo said, trying to direct the argument differently.  

“You think so, Ritchie? I thought it was perfectly normal to try and grope your guest.” John snapped.  

“He wasn’t groping you.” Paul told him. 

“Then what do you call that, Paul?” 

“I don’t know.” Paul stumbled out, pondering what to say for a moment. “Maybe he does that to everyone?”  

“Has he done that to any of you?” John looked around at them as they each told him no. “That’s what I thought!”  

“Yeah, but we haven’t gotten that close to him!” Paul said. John scoffed and muttered something that couldn’t be understood. Paul wanted to be frustrated with John right now, but he couldn’t entirely blame him. Whether or not the man was incredibly interested in John, it was quite worrying the way he was acting around him. If it were him, Paul would be equally as on edge. Still, they had to think about survival first. So Paul, and his other two bandmates decided to drop it.  

While they figured Desmond would be back inside very soon, he surprisingly was not. The entire day, the boys sat, waiting to see what the man would do, when he would come back inside. However, there was no sign of the man returning anytime soon. They peeked outside, and realized that Desmond was not even there.  

“Maybe we should look for him?” George suggested.  

“Maybe he took my advice and ran over to London.” John half-heartedly joked.  

“I don’t think we should try to look, Geo.” said Ringo. “He probably just went somewhere to calm down. He said he had a cellar before, didn’t he?” 

“Yeah, that’s got to be it.” Paul told him. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough.” Ringo nodded, hoping that was true. 

The rest of the day slowly passed, each minute feeling like an hour, each hour feeling like a day. Desmond still had not returned, leaving the boys to believe that he truly did abandon them, make a run for it, or even, god forbid, decided to take the easy way out. They dared not to think that, and prayed that he would come back inside soon. However, he did not. George and Ringo separated from the group once nightfall came, to seclude themselves in the bedroom. Lying, squashed together in one of the small bed, George rested his head on the drummer’s chest.  

“It’s been hours now.” George stated. Ringo hummed in response. 

“Yeah.” he shortly answered.  

“Aren’t you worried.” 

“A little, but he’s got to come back eventually. John did stir him up quite a bit.” George chuckled. 

“The man stirred John up quite a bit too.” George said. “What do you make of that?”  

“I dunno, and honestly I don’t think I want to know. I guess he’s lonely?” 

“Or horny.” George added. 

“That too.” 

“Speaking of.” George licked his lips. “If he’s not even here right now, we actually may be able to do something for once.” 

“With John and Paul here??”  

“Please, Ritch, I saw them in the other room. I’ll bet they’re about to do the same thing.” George said, running his tongue up the drummer’s neck, causing him to shudder.  

“O-oh…” he groaned as George popped open a few of Ringo’s buttons, peppering his chest in kisses. The younger guitarist continued to kiss him lower, to his navel and past, growing closer to his crotch. Yanking his pants and underwear off, George exposed Ringo’s hardening cock. He wasted no time, and began to take the tip into his warm mouth. Ringo threw his head back, and tried not to thrust as George slowly took more of him in. His thin fingers caressing his bandmate’s hips and thighs. He gave a hard suck, before popping off. The drummer whimpered and writhed.  

“You want more?” George smirked. 

“Please!” Ringo begged. George happily obliged, getting back to work. 

Meanwhile, Paul and John decided to stay downstairs for a bit longer to see if Desmond would arrive. Neither were surprised to see that he had not come back yet.  

“You had to say something, didn’t you?” Paul glared from the couch and John paced a little. 

“Oh, so it’s my fault he had to run off and cry because I hurt his feelings?” John spat. 

“Yes! You were the one pushing him when he was clearly becoming angry!” 

“He was only angry because he knew I was right!” 

“Doesn’t mean you should’ve done that! This is his house, remember?! He could easily throw us out without a second thought!” Paul shouted back.  

“Shut up, McCartney!” was the only thing John could think to throw back.  

“You’re only angry because you know I’m right!” Paul mocked. John gave a grunt, then a huff, spinning away from Paul for a moment.  

“I don’t want to fight with you, Macca. I thought we’d be over that.”  

“John, we’ll stop getting into fights about stupid shite when they find a cure for this infection.” Paul meant for it to be humorous, but John only winced. He didn’t want to fight with Paul, especially since they were, dare he say it, lovers. John didn’t want their relationship to end before it even started because of his temper or pride.  

“I’m sorry.” John forced himself to say. “I’ll try not to cause anymore trouble with him, alright?” Paul stood up and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving a reassuring smile. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Lennon." 

 --- 

The boys seemed to lose track of time during the coming days since Desmond walked out on them. It had to be around at least five days since then, and they were beginning to grow worried. Still, none of them offered to leave and search, fearing for the worst. Instead, they remained inside, left to their imaginations to what happened to their host. They were apprehensive about grabbing food or water at first, even though they had done it when they first arrived. Something about taking the man’s food now seemed wrong. Though, their rumbling stomachs and dry mouths soon got the best of them, and forced them to get over it.  

Another day came and went like it usually did now. They would wake up, eat breakfast, inspect the house and the outside for not only Desmond, but also any unwanted visitors. Then they would sit together in the living room, and keep each other entertained. Usually by simple games such as charades or eye spy, or telling stories. Then they would have a light dinner at the still stained table, and carry themselves off to bed. They were beginning to fall into a comfortable, yet boring routine. But they would take that any day over what they had before. 

Paul eagerly pulled John into the master bedroom, his arms tightly wrapped around his neck, pulling him close. Paul pulled John, making him stumble and fall with Paul onto the soft bed. They laughed, then shared a kiss.  

“John.”  

“Yeah, Paul?” John nuzzled his neck.  

“I think I’m ready.” Paul said. John almost jumped in excitement. 

“You are?” Paul nodded, still holding him close. “Are you sure? I told you I won’t force you.” John added, just to make sure. 

“I’m sure, Johnny, please.” the bassist gave a small thrust of his hips to emphasize his sentence.  

“Okay, I’ll give you what you want, Macca.” John said, now crouching between Paul’s legs. He unzipped Paul and himself, pulling out their pricks. Paul bit his knuckle, to avoid making any sound. John then did away with Paul’s, and his own, trousers and underpants all together, marveling at how breathtaking he looked in this moment. John couldn’t resist roughly kissing Paul wet, red lips. The feeling of John’s tongue invading his mouth made Paul’s toes curl in pleasure. His hazel eyes grew wider when a calloused hand grabbed at his growing erection. 

“Anything like those birds while we were on tour?” John asked, withdrawing his lips. 

“Better.” Paul responded. John grinned, spitting into his hand, and began to pump the bassist. A shaky moan escaped Paul’s lips, as John slowly moved his hand on his dick, teasing him with very light squeezes at the base.  

“Johnny, Christ, John…” Paul sputtered, his dick fully hard. John pressed a kiss to the underside before shifting his weight so that he was straddling Paul’s waist. 

“What are you doing?” a puzzled Paul questioned. 

“Ain’t it obvious, love? Gonna ride you, not any of that lube stuff so it’s gonna hurt a bit more. I’d rather take it tonight.”  

"And how would you know about lube stuff?" Paul jokingly asked. 

"Asked our good friend, Georgie, obviously." with that, John inserted two fingers into Paul’s mouth, gathering as much spit as he needed. Paul happily allowed him to, his cock twitching in anticipation. John reached behind him and inserted one finger. His face screwed up and he shut his eyes tightly at the sensation. 

“Are you okay??” Paul asked with worry. John grit his teeth and nodded as he inserted another finger, scissoring himself open. Once he felt he was properly stretched enough, the guitarist lowered himself onto Paul’s length. It still burned a little, as his prick was not as comparable to his fingers. Still John beared the pain, knowing it would get better.  

Paul could barely breathe he was so incredibly aroused. The tightness around his cock almost med his eyes roll to the back of his head. He wanted to push himself in further so badly, but knew not to, as John still needed time to relax. John took a steady breath as he took more of Paul. 

“Fuck, fuck, why do queers like this so much…?” he gasped, his face boiling hot.  

“Sh, sh, it’s alright, just take it slow.”  

“Easy for you to say!” John snapped, feeling Paul fully inside him, stretching him more than his fingers ever could. Taking a few more breaths, John finally relaxed his tense muscles, and was able to move. He moved up and down Paul’s dick at a steady, slow rate, changing his angle after a few times to find that one spot he’s heard about.  

“Fuck, ooh fuck, Johnny. Please, don’t stop, you’re s-so tight, shit…” Paul whimpered as John began to pick up his speed. Suddenly, John’s head was thrown back, and his jaw went slack as Paul’s cock hit a certain area inside. He knew he found that spot, and bounced faster, making sure to hit said spot over and over again.  

“You feel so fucking good, Paulie!” John grunted. He went to grab for his own cock, but Paul beat him to it. The bassist jerked him off at the same speed of his bouncing, knowing how close John was. John begged Paul not to stop as he hit that spot harder a few more times before spilling out onto Paul’s hand and chest. Paul soon climaxed after with a suppressed shout, not wanting the other two to hear. John moved off of Paul and collapsed beside him, both panting wildly.  

“Was it worth the wait?” Paul asked. 

“Fuck yeah it was, Macca. Is that even a question?” Paul smiled, then grimaced as he moved, feeling the stickiness on his body.  

“Look at the mess you made on me!” Paul said, pretending to be angry. 

“I could say the same about my arse.”  

“Well then, we should probably wipe this off.” Paul suggested. 

“It would be better if there was water, then we could shower.” John said with a shrug, as they both stood up. John winced at first at moving, feeling slight pain lower down.  

“You okay?” Paul asked. 

“I should’ve just fucked you, then I could just carry you around afterwards.” John grunted, walking with Paul to the bathroom. 

The two soon returned and fell back into the bed. They grabbed their underwear and threw it back on in case of George or Ringo walking in. They lied together in each other’s arms, breathing in each other’s scent. Neither heard the door crack open. 

“Hello?” asked a voice that they knew too well by now, Desmond. 


	24. Chapter 24

Desmond, after being gone for days on end, at that point expected to have left or died, was standing right at the doorway. His icy gaze pierced the two boys in the bed, although they could not actually see it in the dark. Their bodies shivered against each other as he stood there silently. Not moving from their lying down position, their breaths were quickening.  

"Yes?" John answered.  

"What are you doing?" Desmond stepped inside, and stood at the foot of the bed. John and Paul had no other choice, but to sit up. "Why are you here?" the man turned to Paul. "You have a bed."  

"I was cold." Paul lied, hoping he would buy it. He was grateful that it was too dark to see his eyes, as they could not hold contact for long with their host.  

"Cold, eh? Well, if that's the case, the other boys must be cold! Why don't we invite them all in then??" he jabbed. Paul hunched his shoulders over, lowering his head.  

"Sorry, mister." he murmured.   

"Yes, yes, I know, boy, I know you are." Desmond said, patting his shoulder. "But you've got your own place to sleep, I expect you to do so. After all, you're a big boy, aren't you?" Paul sensed the condescending tone, but wasn't sure if it was fully there. 

"Yes." his face was red with shame as he kept his head lowered like a schoolboy being scolded.  

"Good, now would you be able to?" he asked, then turned to John. "You and I need to have a short talk. Alone." John straightened up, and looked to Paul, urgency on his face. Paul swallowed hard before shaking his head at his host.  

"Couldn't I stay in here tonight? It's already so late, and I'm just so tired." Paul faked a long yawn. John would laugh at the bassist's acting if he wasn't so nervous.  

"No, I want you to go to your own bed." John tugged Paul's arm, silently begging him not to leave them alone.  

"Please? I-uh- don't think I'll make it. I'm so tired." 

"I think you can manage a couple steps." 

"Couldn't you talk tomorrow? I'll even stay in my own bed then, but for tonight I'd rather stay." Paul bargained off the top of his head. Desmond didn't make a noise, no hum or indication of an answer until he spoke again.  

"Fine. Have a good night, I'll be downstairs." the man said, walking from the bed. They avoid saying a word until they could hear his feet reach the last step of the staircase. The two lied back down with a sigh.  

"What does he want to talk to you about?" Paul whispered. 

"You think I fucking know?! Probably wants to ask for a damn blowjob."   
"Be serious, John." Paul scolded. 

"You think I'm not?" John scoffed. "You saw how he acts around me. Fucker's as bad as Brian."  

"Don't compare him to Brian." Paul said. "Please. Brian wasn't like him." 

"I don't know, the hissy fits are there, but then again, Brian didn't leave us alone in his house for almost a week to go wank off." Paul looked down at the sheet, the shifting conversation becoming more uncomfortable at the mention of their former manager. "What am I going to do about tomorrow?" John asked with a thick voice. Both were so in the dark about what would happen. Paul had no idea for what he could possibly do, and that's what seemed to upset him the most. He was in such a useless position.  

"I could try to convince him to let me stay with you again?" Paul suggested.  

"No, we don't know what he's capable of. I don't want you getting hurt. Besides, I can handle myself." John said, petting Paul's dark brown hair. "I know that we need this shelter for now, so I won't push him or anything, okay?"  

"John..." 

"I'll be fine, okay?" 

"Okay." Paul gave in. There was no getting out of it, John knew it, and accepted it. He just wished that it didn't have to be tomorrow. He wished time would freeze in that moment, and allow him to stay in the safety of the large bed, but that won't happen. 

"Love you, Paul." the older guitarist said. Paul mumbled a response, half asleep. 

\--- 

The morning came, much to the dismay of John and Paul. The sun shined through, just like it had the other days. They simultaneously awoke, facing each other. Paul, being the optimist he is, tried his best to give a casual smile and greeting. Though, his lazily opened eyes showed worry. John reciprocated, admiring the way the sunlight made Paul's dark hair shine, making the brown color of it more obvious. He never truly took the time to notice such a thing.  

It was then that George and Ringo came in for their usual call for them to wake up. The two wondered if they even knew Desmond was back in the house or not. If they heard their exchange with him last night. Pushing past the questions, they dragged themselves out of bed, and grabbed their clothes.  

The living room was empty, along with the dining room. For a second, John and Paul hoped that last night was just a dream. However, that was quickly foiled when their host emerged from the kitchen, three cans and five spoons in hand, and a smile on his paled, wrinkling face.  

"Morning." Desmond said, placing the cans on the table. His grin never faltered, even when there were clear senses of confusion emanating from George and Ringo. Desmond began to pull his chair out, looking to them expectantly. The boys copied his action, and sat down as well.  

"Where were you?" Ringo mustered up.  

"Yeah, it's been days since you left." John added, opening a can. "What have you been up to?"  

"The basement." he plainly answered, not even looking over at John once.  

"The basement?" George asked, fishing a fruit out of the other now open can. "Why there for so long?" 

"Well, I was put in a pretty sour mood as you can remember. I am still angry at the way I was addressed, but I understand that this is quite a stressful time. So I did what anyone would do, I went to calm down." 

"For six days?" Ringo raised an eyebrow. 

"I was very angry, boy. I'm sorry for being away so long, but I needed the time." Desmond explained to him. "I'm not pointing fingers, but there's a clear air of disrespect growing from somewhere." John noted that Desmond's gaze switched to John for only a second before turning back. "But I won't discuss that right now." he waved off. John swallowed hard, turning to Paul, the only one who also understood his words. 

The day went by as it normally did in the home now that Desmond was back, with the exception for John. The uncomfortableness becoming obvious for John as Desmond's eyes fell on him every now and then. George and Ringo were fairly oblivious to it, not having the proper context of the night before, and saw it as how Desmond usually was. Paul was the onlooker who almost wished he was as ignorant. There was nothing he could do anyways, so what was the point of even knowing?  

Every minute, John expected to be pulled off by the man into a separate room. To be isolated from his mates, and left with only Desmond, with no choice but to face him. But that hand gripping and pulling on him never came. There were only glances, no contact. Anything spoken to John from him was short and sounded uninterested. John thought that it was possible that Desmond got over whatever he needed to discuss with John, as nothing he did indicated he wanted to talk.  

The nightfall came, and John was sure that he was off the hook as Desmond said his goodnights. The four gave him a wave, and rushed up to the rooms. As Paul followed George and Ringo, he was stopped by John. 

"I think I'm going to be alright, Paulie." 

"What makes you think that?" 

"He hasn't said much to me yet." 

"He could be waiting. It seemed like he wanted to talk at night." Paul reminded him, not wanting to celebrate yet. "I'm going to sleep with George and Ringo tonight, okay? If I hear anything I'll come over." Paul held John's face in his hands. John shook his head. 

"No, I don't want you putting yourself in danger." 

“John, please, I don’t want you doing something rash.” Paul said, laying a hand on John’s neck. 

“And I don’t want something to happen to you because you want to play hero.” John protested, not even trying to push the hand away from him. Wishing he could have more contact that just this. Paul looked away for a second, his lips parting slightly. John could see Paul was about to object. "I think I can handle one man, Macca. I won't hurt him or anything, I know we need to stay here." Paul sighed, and gave a weak nod. He knew better than to change the mind of his stubborn friend. They gave each other a short peck before going separate ways.  

John awoke alone in the dark room, sweat on his face as he shot up. It couldn't have been longer than an hour since he fell asleep. He wasn't sure why he was like this, but figured it was related to Desmond. John stared around the room, it felt so different alone, or so he thought. Though it was almost impossible to see, a dark, blurry figure caught his eye. The figure stepped closer, footsteps making a very light creak as John's throat tightened. He could finally see that it was Desmond, staring at him with the same cold look from before.  

"I know what you've been doing." he whispered ominously. John's face grew white. He had to be talking about him and Paul. What else would it be? He should've recognized that disgusted look being related to that. He should've known. Still, John played dumb, and asked what he meant. "Don't insult my intelligence." Desmond raised a finger to him.  

"I really don't understand."  

"Where is he? Where's this  _Paul_?"  

"He's in the other room?" John answered, confused.  

"Where is he hiding?" 

"Hiding?" 

"Don’t play stupid! I heard you mention Paul at the table days ago! Yeah, don’t think I didn’t hear that. So where have you hidden him?” Desmond began to stomp around the bedroom. He threw open the closet door and began to tear out articles of clothing, throwing them around the room. Picking up a lone shoe, he wildly threw it behind him, almost hitting John.  

“Have you gone mad?!” 

“Where is he?? Where’s Paul?!” Desmond raised his voice, lobbing another shoe behind him. “I heard you last night. Saying how much you loved Paul.  _Oh_ _,_ _I love you,_ _Paul!_ _I love you ever so much!_ ” he said in a shrill, mocking voice. 

“Next door!” John shouted, not caring if the boys next door woke up.  

“Tell me where he is!!” Desmond raved, seemingly ignoring John. He poked his head into the closet, then came back out. John threw the covers aside and moved over to him. He didn’t intend to do anything that would push their luck, but at least try to calm him. John reached out for Desmond, but was instantly grabbed by his shoulders. Desmond's tense hands held him tightly as he lashed out. Desmond asked once again where he was. John said the same thing he said before, not sure what he wanted at that point. 

“Stop lying to me!” he shook John as his hot breath hit the older guitarist in the face. John found himself trying not to gag at the rancid smelling breath.  

“I’m speaking nothing but the truth!” 

“What’s going on with Paul?!” the man bared his teeth.

“Nothing, you bleeding loon!” John couldn’t help but scream back. His head snapped to the side as Desmond’s palm slapped against his cheek. John froze, anger coursing through him, and burning like a white flame. He wanted to do nothing more than to leap onto Desmond and smash his teeth in, but he knew that would only hurt them in the end. So, clenching his jaw and holding his breath, he repressed the feeling. The grip on his shoulders loosened, and became shaky.  

“I-I’m so sorry…” the man said, voice just as shaky as his hands. Though, John could no longer even hear the man. He backed away from John, stepping over the discarded clothes and shoes, towards the door. He held the doorknob tightly as John stood in the same spot, blanked out at the wall. “I’m going to sleep downstairs again. Please forgive me…” Desmond meekly added, scurrying away. Still unmoving, John swallowed spit that gathered in his mouth. He felt disgusted that he would let himself be treated like that without a fight. Even if it was for the best, he hated himself for seeming so weak. Finally, his feet could move again, and he went back to the bed. Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling, trying his best to contemplate what had happened just now. At that point he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know. 

 

\--- 

The morning came, and as usual, Paul was woken up by George and Ringo. While Paul was happy to see the familiar faces of his bandmates, there was something saddening about not having John next to him. He prayed that nothing had happened the night before, that Desmond truly did let it go. Whatever “it” was exactly.  

“Another day in paradise, eh?” Paul yawned.  

“As always.” George answered, sitting on Paul’s bed. His face crinkled. “That bloke was right about one thing. We smell like shit.” 

“You just realized that?” Paul laughed.  

“Much more prominent on you.” George teased, Paul pretended to be offended by his tiny jab.  

“I guess wearing the same clothes each day doesn’t help.” Paul said, grimacing at the filthy clothes he wore.  

“Didn’t he say there were clothes in here that should fit?” George suggested.  

“Yeah, but looks like a kid’s room. I can’t imagine there’s anything in here.” Ringo cut in. 

“Maybe he stores some extra clothes in here for himself? Seems like kids don’t exactly live here anymore.” George said. Paul agreed, noting the distinct lack of any of life besides them and their host.  

“There are drawers and a closet. Let’s have a look, I’m dying to get out of these rags.” Paul dramatically said, striding towards the small drawers. He pulled one open, and tugged out a t-shirt. It was clearly child’s sized, much too small. He continued to look through the first drawer, nothing but children’s clothes. The second and third drawer were the exact same, nothing that could possibly fit. Ringo decided to check the closet. Small dress shirts and slacks, along with shoes they could barely fit their heels in.  

“It’s all kid’s clothes.” Paul scratched his head.  

“Maybe there was a mix up and he meant a different room.” George said, still fully examining the closet. Still nothing. As confused as they were, the boys decided they would get John and question the man himself.  

They went to get John, not expecting the mess they would find just next door, with clothes everywhere, and the closet door thrown open. John knew they were there, as he never was able to fully fall asleep again after his little encounter. He greeted them, and hopped off of the bed. 

“What happened?!” Paul asked.  

“Nothing, just thought I’d redecorate.” John replied. 

“Why did you tear the room apart??” George also asked.  

“This wasn’t me. This was our kind host.”  

“Why would he do that?!” Ringo raised an eyebrow. 

“Thought Paul was hiding away in the closet!” John huffed. “While the closet would normally be the best place to look for Macca, he surprisingly wasn’t there!” 

“Didn’t he stop to think I was with the others?” Paul couldn’t stop looking around. He wished he was there last night. 

“No! You’d think, but he figured you were just hiding behind a few shirts. As one would normally think, of course!” It was all becoming more and more confusing. The longer they stayed, the less they understood. The man was becoming incredibly peculiar and almost scary.  

“Does he know?” Ringo questioned. 

“He’s got to. There’s no doubt. If shit wasn’t happening right now, he would’ve called the cops.” John told them. Paul squinted, noticing the red welt on John’s cheek. 

“Did he hit you?” Paul asked with alarm. He reached put to touch the mark, put was stopped by the older guitarist. 

“Yeah, but it was just a slap. I’ll live.” Paul furrowed his brow as George and Ringo exchanged glances. The four, so caught up in trying to unravel everything, paid no attention to the footsteps coming up the stairs. They all jumped at the same time when Desmond poked his head into the room. 

“Good morning!” he smiled brightly. They gave an uncomfortable response. “What are we talking about in here.” 

“Nothing.” John speedily said. “They were just coming in to wake me up.”  

“I see.” Desmond said, the anger from the nighttime nowhere to be seen. “Well, how’s about we go down for breakfast?” The boys nodded and began to walk to the door. Desmond’s eyes wandered around the messy room, as if he’d never seen it before. “Clean this up, will you? I’ll be having none of this in my house.” John wanted to spit something back at him, but bit his tongue. He had to control himself, he had to for his bandmates. He couldn’t fight back, as much as he wanted to. He had to do it for them, for Paul. 


	25. Chapter 25

Desmond was ahead of the boys, already almost down the steps as they were barely out the bedroom door. George held himself as he stared at the discarded clothes and John's welt. George didn't understand why he felt so sick to his stomach, but he felt as though bile would rise up his throat any minute. Ringo gave him a tap, asking what was wrong. George's sickness turned to irritation as he shook his head. 

"Nothing." George muttered, letting his arms drop to his sides. 

"At least we know where to get new clothes." Ringo said, trying to bring some light to the situation. George hummed, furrowing his brow.  

"We can change later." Paul said as he walked with John. Ready to question George again once Paul and John walked away, he was met with the younger guitarist pushing himself ahead. The drummer sighed and figured he would ask later.  

The table at breakfast was just as it always had been, save for John’s little comments as he was too tired to care. The boys did what they usually did, split two cans amongst themselves, though John hardly touched anything. Paul only ate what he usually did, hoping he could coerce John into eating. He shook the can at the older guitarist, urging him to eat some. John just agitatedly pushed the can away from his face.  

“Did you sleep at all?” Paul asked.  

“Not really.” John muttered.  

“You should’ve taken a sleeping pill. They’re always in the bathroom for when any of us get like that.” Desmond cut in. John scoffed, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to know that. He mindlessly nodded, his head lazily resting in his hand. He felt his mind slowly shut down, but not all the way, still thinking about last night. John concluded that the man was either an idiot or insane. Either way, he was beginning to grow weary and wished this apocalypse would end. Whether it was through a cure or his own death, he couldn’t decide at that point. He’d probably take either at the time. John fought to keep his eyes open, avoiding eye contact with Desmond. 

“I’ll throw the cans away.” Desmond offered, taking them into the kitchen with him. 

“I think I’m gonna step outside.” George said, standing.  

“Outside? Why?” Ringo raised his eyebrows.   

“Some fresh air.” George shrugged, noticing how concerned the drummer looked. “I’ll be careful, and it’s not like I’ll Be far.” George gave a reassuring grin as he strolled near the door. 

“Should I come with you?” the drummer asked as he prepared to jump up.  

“Nah, I need a minute just to breathe. I’ll be fine. If Desmond asks, just let him know.” George quickly responded.  

“Don’t go far.” Paul added. John didn’t say anything, eyes drifting shut. 

“Okay, mum.” George said, exiting.  

The air was chilled, but the sun shined over the home brightly, causing George to shield his eyes at first. He stood on the porch for a second, just to take a long, calm breath. He relished the feeling of being by himself outside, and the tranquilness of it. He wished he had a cigarette right about now. Another couple of steps, and his shoes were standing on the hard soul. He dug his heel into the earth just a bit, looking around at the land. It was so surreal to see such emptiness around him, not a soul in sight. The sounds of infected were beginning to become a distant memory, one he was glad to be fading away. With his hands in his pockets, George stepped around the side of the house, inspecting it. In the sunlight, the younger guitarist could see the red color of the house, dulled and browned with age. It almost reminded him of dried blood. Desmond still had the windows boarded, which was smart of him, but it completed the whole apocalyptic look with that color. Involuntarily shivering, George took another step. 

The three boys awaited for Desmond to return. Paul gave John a short rub on the back as their host came back into the room. His smile faded when he noticed that one of them was missing. 

“Where’s the other gone?”  

“He just went outside for a bit of air.” Paul said.  

“What?!” Desmond panicked. “What if something happens to him?!”  

“He’s not going far.” Ringo said, but Desmond didn’t want to hear it. 

“Why didn’t anyone stop him?!” he was inly met with a soft snore from John. Groaning, clear agitation in his voice, he hurried to the door.  

As he kept his eyes ahead while walking to the back of the house, George saw what could only be the man’s cellar. Curiosity sparked in him, he remembered how Desmond left for almost a week to be alone in there. Something inside had to know just what exactly was so special about that cellar. He knew he shouldn’t, but he continued to walk towards the door. Thoughts of what was behind the door, began to worried him, he had no idea what it was. However, George had to stop himself, trying to assure that it was just a plain cellar and that there was probably nothing. Still he reached out, and took the handle, ready to open the door. George began to pull the door open when two rough hands stopped him.  

“What are you doing?! Why are you outside?!” Desmond spat, spinning George to face him. George’s eyes went wide with a mix of surprise and fear as Desmond got closer to his face as he yelled.  

“I was just going out for some air.” he tried to explain. 

“You shouldn’t be here, do you understand that you can’t come outside like this anymore?!” Desmond shook him a little.  

“But you said yourself that nothing happens here!” 

“That doesn’t mean I want you to risk it!” he shook George again. He grasped George tightly enough to cause him to give a small yelp. “I’m watching over this place, and that means you don’t do stuff like this unless I say so! I don’t appreciate this type of treatment, from any of you!” 

“Sorry.” George muttered, trying to wriggle free. Desmond sighed, telling George it was okay. He brought the younger guitarist in for a small hug before leading him back to the house. 

“I just don’t want anything to happen.” Desmond told him as he opened the creaky door. George’s three bandmates still sat at the table, waiting.  

 

\--- 

“Why did you go out?” Ringo asked across the room. George and Ringo decided that they would go back upstairs later on. Desmond was surprisingly okay with them going off on their own. George suspected that it might have had to do with earlier.  

The two sat in their separate beds right across from each other. George didn't look in the drummer's direction, only to the wall, and sometimes to the small toys on the floor. 

George shook his head and shrugged. “I needed some air.”  

“You should’ve let me go with you.” Ringo told him. “He probably wouldn’t have been as angry if I did.” 

“Doubt it.” George quickly answered. “And I don’t need you to follow me around like you’re my mum.” he added, a hint of venom. 

“I’m not trying to be your mum, I’m trying to be your, you know…boyfriend?” George grimaced. 

“Don’t call it that.”  

“Well, then what do you suggest I call it?  _Very_ ,  _very_  close friend?”  

“Just not boyfriend, it sounds weird.” George hugged himself.  

“What’s wrong, Georgie?” George told him nothing, but the drummer knew better. “Why are you suddenly acting like this?” 

“I’m not acting like anything.” 

“Did I do something?” 

“No, Ritch, not everything is about you!” George spat.  

"Then what's wrong??"  

"Nothing!" George's hug around himself became tighter, his sickness returning. Before he knew it, Ringo was already across the room sitting next to George on his bed. The bed shifted as he sat next to him in his line of vision. George turned now to look at the bed Ringo was just at.  

"Please tell me, Geo." the drummer reached out to stroke his arm, George made another face. "Are you disgusted with this?" Ringo asked, afraid of what George's answer would be. 

"No!" George answered, eyes widening. 

"Why did you go outside on your own??" 

"'Cause maybe I want to be the fuck alone sometimes! Maybe I don't want to be cramped up with you EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY!" 

"If you want to end this we can." Ringo stated, surprisingly calmly. George still shook his head rapidly. He could never be disgusted with Ringo, but he didn't know how to word what was wrong. The sickening feeling was still in the pit of his stomach, yet he couldn't figure out how to tell the drummer.  

"Well, do you want to end this?" Ringo asked in a thick, impatient voice.  

"You're such a fucking sod." George muttered, voice a bit raw. "This isn't about ending anything!" he pushed Ringo's hand away, snarling.  

"Then tell me, if I'm your boyfriend, tell me." Ringo pleaded, putting his hand back on his arm.  

"I said not to call it  _that_." George hissed. George's words pierced the drummer and gave him all the answers he needed. Ringo stood up from the bed, and turned his back to George.  

"Fine, then we won't call it anything. Is that better?" He crossed his arms, walking to the door. The younger guitarist felt no better, in fact he felt worse. He already lost one loved one, now he was about to lose another. Another he could have actually prevented, and he was slipping away. He couldn't deal with that, not again. George propelled himself upwards and towards the drummer. Regret mixed in with the sickness, pushing away his anger.  

"Ritchie, wait!" George moved ahead of him to block the door.  

"Now do you want to talk?" Ringo kept his arms folded.  

"Yeah, I'm ready." George said, trying his hardest to keep eye contact. Ringo looked him up and down before agreeing to listen. The boys made their way back to the small bed, ready to figure out what was the problem. 

"So what is it?" Ringo asked. "You've been acting weird since this morning." George took a breath, not answering yet. "Please tell me if it's me." Ringo murmured. George released his shaky breath as his head dropped with his shoulders. 

"It's not you, Ritch. It's me."  

"Are you sure this isn't a break up?" Ringo chuckled, but George didn't laugh. 

"No, I'm just scared." 

"We're all scared, Geo."  

"No, I'm scared that something's gonna happen to you." George explained. "You saw John. Desmond knows about him and Paul and went fucking crazy. He  _hit_  John, Rings, and tore the whole room apart. Who the hell even knows what else he'll do? What if he finds out about us and does something worse?" George took another gulp of air. "I can't lose another, Ritchie, I can't. I don't want to be the reason I lost you too." George blinked away the couple of tears in his eyes, breaking eye contact with the drummer.  

"I've told you that you weren't to blame for Pattie." Ringo quietly said. "It wasn't your fault, and it wouldn't be your fault with Desmond." 

"It would be my fault, I came onto you back at that flat. I dragged you into this, and if he found out and hurt you, I'd be to blame." 

"You didn't drag me into anything. I chose this because I love you." The drummer took one of George's hands, brushing his thumb over the knuckles. "This is all me."  

"You're such a soft queer." George let out a breathy chuckle. 

"As if you're any better." Ringo smiled, leaning close to George. Feeling George's other hand move through his hair, he closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to George's. He wasn't sure what would happen after this, but Ringo just wanted to live in the moment for as long as they possibly could. He didn't want to think about the pandemic or Desmond, right now he just wanted to focus on George.  

 

\--- 

Paul and John walked side by side, looking behind them every so often to see if Desmond had followed them. He hadn't thankfully, but the thought still worried them. John was still a bit out of it, his mind all over the place. Paul noticed the way he would get some words jumbled or accidentally slur. John fought to stay awake long enough to make it to the welcoming bed still surrounded by the thrown about clothes. John found himself stumbling a little, everything going black for a second before coming back to him in a flash. 

"Come on, Johnny baby, don't crash on me yet." Paul managed a chuckle despite his concern.  

"'M tryin', Macca..." John mumbled, trying to get his footing as they walked across the bedroom, avoiding slipping on anything. Once he made it to the bed, John collapsed onto it, pulling Paul down with him. Paul laughed again as he felt John's hands circle around his waist, pressing into his lower back and continuing lower. 

"You bastard, I thought you were tired not horny."  

"I may be asleep, but my prick isn't."  

"You're sick." 

"You love it." Paul grinned, running his tongue along John's lower lip. John let out a small hum, eyes fluttering shut. 

"I'm going to stay in here tonight." Paul said, pressing his lips to John's cheek. John shook him head with a disapproving grunt. 

"No, I don't want ‘im doing anything t’you if he comes back tonight." 

“I think we’ll be okay. After all, two against one.” Paul pointed out. John had to chuckle at Paul, since he was originally the one who told John not to do anything to get thrown out. Yet here was Paul talking about going against the very man who controlled whether they stay or go. John wanted to say that, but could only bring himself to formulate a “no.” John weakly pushed at Paul, telling him “no” again.  

“I don’t want him to ‘urt you, Macca…” John began to mumble, giving another light push. Paul sighed, looking down at the struggling man under him. As much as he didn’t want to leave John, he knew John wouldn’t let him stay. John would rather let himself get the heat than Paul, and it saddened him. It saddened him that there wasn’t much he could do.  

“Alright.” Paul whispered. “I’ll go, but please yell if you need me.” John agreed, barely awake now. He laid his head against the pillow, giving one last mumble to Paul. The bassist gave a sad smile, running a finger down the older guitarist’s cheek before getting up and leaving the room. 

 

\--- 

John was out of it, he had no remembrance of dreaming as he awoke. It couldn't have been too late, as there was still some darkness that resonated in the bedroom. However, he felt much more refreshed than yesterday, so he had to have gotten a well enough sleep. As he adjusted to his surroundings, a warm breath tickled the back of his neck. The older guitarist realized that two arms were draped around him as well, holding him in a tight embrace. Though he couldn't tell whose arms they were, John had a feeling he knew as one hand lazily rubbed his thigh. 

"Dirty fuck." John mumbled, suppressing a chuckle. "Shouldn't you be in your own bed, Paulie?" John asked, but received no reply. He should have known Paul would have not been able to leave him alone. Not that he minded the much needed contact, he was just worried about getting caught. John allowed the hand to lightly squeeze his thigh before drifting to rest on his torso. With one hand, John reached over to hold his bandmate's hand, only to be met with something else. The hand was not Paul's. 

That woke John up. The hand he felt was most certainly not the familiar hand of the bassist. It was much too bony, and had almost a leather feel to it. John quickly yanked his hand back, squirming desperately to see his surprise visitor.  

"Good morning." Desmond's warm, not longer inviting breath hit his flesh, causing John to grow cold and frigid.  

"What the FUCK?!" John wriggled out of his grasp, pushing the man's arms away as he moved to sit upward. Desmond mimicked his sitting position, a bewildered look on his face. 

"What's wrong with you?!" Desmond questioned. 

"What's wrong with  _me??_ You were the one just feeling me up!"    
"And?" Desmond didn't even look as though that were a bit strange.  

"What do you mean "and?"?! You don't do that last I checked!" John protested as Desmond moved closer to him. Not even being able to comprehend the situation, John had Desmond's mouth pressed against his in a closed mouth kiss. Fingers pressed and raked John's chest, moving lower down his sides while Desmond attempted to push the older guitarist back. Reacting as quick as he could, John threw Desmond off of him. He pressed himself against the headboard, shrinking away from the man as he wiped at his lips. 

"Sorry if I'm not  _Paulie."_ he sounded utterly disgusted saying the bassist's name.  

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?!!" John screeched, hand lingering on his assaulted lips. Desmond's face contorted, his lips curling as he took a shallow breath. The man took three more breaths before tears streaked down his face. Desmond whimpered, his body shook with each small sob that raked through him. John had to feel sorry for him, even if he just tried pressing himself against the older guitarist. John didn't understand this man, nor the sudden mood swing. 

"Why are you doing this?" Desmond hiccupped. "Why are you doing this to them, to  _me."_  

"What are you talking about? What have I done??"  

"Stop pretending, god dammit!" he rose his voice, another whimper escaped. "I knew you were up to something, but I didn't want to believe it." 

"Just exactly believe what? You're talking all this shite as if I understand a word of it!"  

" _PAUL!_  I KNOW YOU AND THIS PAUL ARE TOGETHER!" John recoiled at the man's words. He knew he was caught. "Am I right?!" John nodded, which only caused Desmond to give an agonizing groan. His wet eyes covered by his hands.  

"Then tell me where he is." Desmond said, trying to compose himself enough to speak.  

"He- he's in the other bedroom." John couldn't believe that he was this shaken and stumbling over his words. 

"There we go again with this. How many times must we go THROUGH THIS?" Desmond clenched his fist, shaking it a little. Their host let out a small chuckle in between the tears. He genuinely looked to be completely gone to John. "Are you hiding him in here?? I'll bet he's waiting, WAITING to sneak out and take you all away! Am I right?" 

"Paul's not hiding, I've told you before, and I'll tell you now, you git, he's in the other bedroom!"  a noise fell from Desmond's lips, a mix of a cackle and a screech of pain. 

"You can't do this, not to me! I've done too much for you!" Desmond pinned John to the headboard, lowering his face to the musician's. "Don't lie to me!!" 

"I'm not!"  

"Then where's Paul?!"  

"The other bedroom!" 

"DON'T LIE TO ME,  _MOLLY!"_ John's face went blank as his body was slammed against the headboard. Unless he was going deaf, he swore he heard Desmond call him Molly. Just then, the door swung open, Paul was in the doorway with George and Ringo behind him. 

"What's happening?!" Paul questioned.  

"Go back to bed." Desmond instructed, then turned to John. "Unless you want to say where our good friend, Paul is in front of them."  

"I'm Paul, Mister." the bassist said. Desmond cruelly laughed. 

"You're disgusting, Molly. Putting the poor boys up to your game as well."  

"But I  _am_  Paul." Paul didn't bother asking who Molly was, as everything was already so confusing. Desmond just shook his head, released John, and wiped his nose with his sleeve.  

"You best stop with these games," Desmond began, looking directly at John as he moved from the bed, "and change this by the morning. Or it will be harder living here than you think." With that, Desmond moved past the boys, to continue downstairs. The three rushed to John, Paul knelt on the bed to inspect his lover. 

"Did he hit you again?" Paul tentatively asked.  

"No." 

"Why was he calling you Molly?" George wondered. 

"And why didn't he believe Paul was here? Why would he think we'd play around with him like that?" Ringo added, also looking John over. John sat in silence, the name, Molly sounded so familiar, He swore he saw it before, he just couldn't remember where. Then it struck him. He was taken back to the one night he had tea with Desmond. How he found him looking down at the old photograph on the table. John remembered the family in the photo, which included Desmond. He remembered the names written underneath. John's mouth dropped as he recalled the names in his head. 

Alex. 

Joseph. 

Ralph. 

 _Molly._  

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I decided to post this ch a week late and a day early lmao Pretty happy that I was actually able to get this out considering I was fully ready to say it was going to be another week. But hey, winter break's near so I hopefully won't need to do that! I'll also be trying to put out another couple of one shots soon! Thanks!

“I think I know.” John mumbled. 

“Well spit it out.” George said as the three moved in closer to John, listening carefully. 

“I think he thinks I’m his wife.” John whispered, face without any color. The room was quiet, then suddenly filled with the sounds of chortles and snickers from the boys. John’s once pale face turned pink as they continued to hold back loud laughter. 

“I’m serious!” John grit his teeth. “I think the bloke’s a fucking loon and thinks we’re his family.” Paul composed himself, realizing how serious John was. His face was filled with frustration and, Paul knew John wouldn’t admit it, fear. 

“Why do you think that?” questioned Paul. 

“Because I saw a picture he was staring at one night. It was him, his wife, and kids, and under it it had the boys’ names and Molly.” Paul’s eyes widened while George and Ringo’s eyebrows rose as far as they could go. “I dunno what happened to them, but I think he sees them when he looks at us, and not four blokes.” 

“They probably left before this all started.” George said. “Molly probably realized the man was crazy.” John shrugged. 

“It doesn’t matter what happened to them. What matters is that he thinks we’re them.” Ringo interjected. 

“What should we do?” Paul questioned, looking directly at John, whose face was unreadable. John thought deeply, he didn’t understand how he couldn’t see it before. The way the man talked to him, his actions, and how angry he got even suspecting something was happening between him and Paul. All of it seemed so in his face, but he chose to brush it off. That is until just now, when everything finally boiled over. Now they were stuck, John and the others knew they couldn’t leave. At this point they couldn’t go back to the city, and if they went too far out in the country they may never get rescued. John knew there was only one solution, the same one the boys have been doing; surviving. 

“Go have breakfast.” John said. 

“You are joking.” Paul scoffed. “You expect us to sit there and eat with him after this shit?” Paul said, jaw hanging open. John rolled his eyes and gave his own scoff. 

“I don’t get you, Macca. First you say we need to keep peace so we don’t get thrown out, now you refuse to eat with the guy.” 

“Because he hit you and tried to take advantage of you!” Paul protested. 

“He thinks I’m his bleeding wife, Paul, of course he was trying to make a move!” John threw back. 

“That doesn’t mean he can hit you!” 

“Not a bloody bird, Paul! I can take a little slap, unlike you.” 

“For Christ’s sake, can you both stop!” the drummer hissed, moving between them, and pushing the two away. “John has a point, Paul. What other choice do we even have right now?” Paul snarled in disgust at first, but his expression slowly changed to a more thoughtful one. 

“We don’t have any other option, I suppose, besides leaving.” Paul said. 

“But you know we can’t leave.” Ringo continued. 

“You said so yourself.” John interrupted, getting a quick look from the smaller musician in the middle. 

“I know what I said, you don’t need to remind me.” 

“It’s not like any of us want to stay here,” Ringo said. “but John’s right. We need to stay alive, even if it means staying here until we get help.” Paul bit his lip, eyes going to the walls, then the older guitarist. 

John softened, he couldn’t stay angry with Paul. He knew Paul meant well, just concerned for him, but John was a grown man. He could, and had to worry about himself. 

“Fine, then let’s go, lads.” Paul weakly commanded, leading the boys. 

Desmond was seen fiddling with a radio on the coffee table, playing with the antenna. He grimaced as he turned the knob, and gave it a smack. He turned his head to the boys, and gave a grunt before going back to his work. The four didn’t move, waiting for Desmond to speak. 

“You can get food, don’t bother waiting for me.” he grunted, hitting the radio again. The four did so, grabbing their usual food and sitting in their usual spots. Awkwardly sitting and watching the man, Paul put a finger to his lips and bit his nail. The silence of the room was replaced by the light static of the radio, then changed to a scratchy voice. The voice was that of an announcer, his deep voice becoming more audible. They each leaned, holding their breaths. 

“Over one month since the mysterious virus hit. Now, January 30th of the new year, and many cities have been completely destroyed.” 

“It’s only been over a month.” George gravely whispered. To them, it seemed as though years have passed, time becoming nonexistent and almost obsolete. 

“Many wondered when help would arrive from neighboring countries, and none had answered the call. However, we have just received word that President Johnson will be sending United States helicopters over to rescue any survivors. They will be in the following areas in the coming days:” 

“They’re actually coming.” Paul said in a low voice. “We could get rescued.” the man on the radio continued to list cities including Paris, Berlin, and other major cities. John shushed Paul, listening carefully. Finally they heard the announcer say what they wanted. 

“And London, one of the most recent cases of the outbreak.” The boys grinned to each other, they had their chance, their new option. “Help will be arriving over the course of-“ Then there was nothing but static. Their expressions dropped as soon as they stopped hearing his voice. Loud static resonated in their ears. Rather than the radio being met with another smack from Desmond, he actually responded with a tapping foot. 

“Remember this one?” Desmond asked John, moving to him. John sat , bewildered by their host’s reaction to the droning noise. It had to be a song Desmond was now hearing as he tapped his foot and moved to an imaginary beat. 

“Er- yeah, ‘course I do.” he replied, trying to play it off. Desmond, however, didn’t fall for it, and stopped his movements. He shrugged nonchalantly, moving back to the radio. 

“Sorry, it was silly of me to think you’d remember that old thing. The last time it was played was our wedding after all.” Desmond spat. “I think that’s enough radio.” with that, he turned the dial. Desmond stood for a minute, then slammed his fist against the radio. The boys sprang up, startled. Another collision, this time slightly denting the radio. Desmond sighed deeply, leaning over and hanging his head. 

Eyes shifted between the boys, none of them daring to make a sound, going as far as to not open their cans. John swallowed his saliva, and Ringo gave a dry cough. There was a strangled cry from Desmond as he snatched the radio and threw it against the kitchen wall. They expected the man to stomp over to the now broken radio, but instead the boys heard footsteps out the door. A slam followed, now leaving them alone with each other. John rubbed his eye, groaning. 

“Wonder if this’ll be his next week long retreat.” John muttered. 

“At least it’s not as awkward now.” Paul said. 

“Poor radio.” Ringo light-heartedly commented. 

“But hey, this is great! Help’s coming!” George said with a small grin. 

“Yeah, but when? The announcer didn’t get to say before our friend decided to dance to some static.” John replied. 

“He had to be saying over the course of a few days. Can’t imagine what else it would be. So they’ll probably be here soon.” 

“But, George, how do we know what days it will be?” Paul questioned. 

“Well, couldn’t it be assumed that they’re on the way right now?” George shrugged. 

“And what if they’re not and we go back to London too early? We’d be sitting ducks.” Paul pointed out. 

“I dunno, I’m sure Smith would let us back in if we ask nicely.” John dryly said. 

“Then how will we know when they’re here? The radio’s been smashed!” George despaired. This time, no one had anything to say. 

“I suppose the only choice is to actually go and see.” Paul said. 

“Didn’t we just go over why that’s a shit idea?” John raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, one of us could take the van and go see. Then come back if they really are there.” Paul explained. 

“Do we have time for that? Would they wait around long enough?” Ringo asked. 

“Only one way to find out.” Paul answered. “I could always explain to one of them that the rest of The Beatles are out in the country.” 

“What do you mean you’ll explain?” John cut in. 

“I figured I’d go.” 

“Just wondering, but did a chunk of the radio somehow fly off and knock you in the skull?” 

“What are you trying to say, Lennon?” Paul’s eyes narrowed. 

“I’m saying that you’re daft if you think you’re going back to the fucking city on your own!” 

“Wow, John, maybe Desmond was right to think you’re our mum.” 

“Shut up, McCartney! You’re the one who wants to get yourself killed!” 

“I can handle it, John! I’ll just drive over, take a look, and come back.” Paul defended. 

“You make it sound like a trip to the fucking shop!” John snarled. 

“I’ll be fine as long as I don’t stop! Besides, if there are soldiers there, I’ll be safe.” 

“No, Paul! It’s a shitty idea, and even you know it.” John protested. Paul looked to his other bandmates, raising his eyebrows, expecting them to back him up. George and Ringo shifted, not speaking. 

“Fine, we’ll just sit here and lose our only chance at getting out if this! Happy, John?!” Paul said crossly, pushing his chair out, and stomping away. 

“Paul! Where are you going??” George asked, twisting to see his friend. 

“Upstairs! Might as well just go back to bed, right?!” Paul shouted, making his way up the steps. 

John scoffed. “Can you believe this? Telling him he can’t just go get eaten alive and goes to cry about it like a fucking baby.” 

“But, what if Paul’s right? Maybe we should go with his idea?” George meekly spoke. 

“Christ…” John muttered. 

“I’m serious. What if help is already here, and we don’t even know.” 

“That doesn’t mean we should just send Paul out on his own!” 

“But if more of us go, don’t you think the man would notice?” Ringo piped up. 

“Please, he’s probably staying in his hidey-hole for another damn week.” John said. 

“And if he doesn’t? He might not take too much notice to one person gone, but two will be his limit.” 

“So? Tell him two ran away or some shit.” 

“But we, you, have seen how he gets. Who knows what he’ll do about that.” 

“I don’t care, Paul’s not gonna fucking go!” John kept at it, refusing to bend. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. 

“John,” Ringo began. 

“I don’t want to hear it! You selfish twats don’t even sound like you give a shit! Paul could end up like, Eppy, Mal, or Neil, but you don’t even care!” 

“Of course we care!” George answered, furrowing his brow. “It just seems like an idea for the time!” 

“Fuck off, Harrison! You probably just want Paul out of the bedroom so you and Ritchie can fuck!” George, pink-faced, began to stutter. 

“John! We’re all just trying to get out of this mess, it’s not that we don’t care. We’re all scared shitless, and desperate for ideas! So why don’t you give us one of yours instead of shooting everyone else down like you’ve been doing?!” Ringo snapped, blue eyes filled with anger and exhaustion. They just wanted to leave, to finally end this nightmare, but it was starting to come at a price. Their safety and well-being, both fading with each day in this virus-ridden hell. 

John knew he had to talk to Paul, he knew they had no other ideas, and he certainly knew what Desmond could be capable of. It pained him to admit it, but he really wanted to leave too, and was desperate enough to go with the idea. He was disgusted with the part of him that wanted Paul to go and see, he was just as selfish as the others. He supposed that’s why they were friends, they have so much in common, even their selfishness. John stood from the table, telling the others that he was going to talk to Paul. 

“Paulie?” John called out from the door of the bedroom. He spotted the bassist, curled up in a fetal position under the blanket that completely covered his body. “Paul?” John tried again. 

“Fuck off.” Paul’s muffled voice came from under the duvet. John walked in, stepping over the toys that still sat on the rug. The older guitarist took the duvet, and gave it a hard yank. 

“We need to talk.” John told him. Paul responded by grabbing the blanket, and pulling it back. 

“I said fuck off.” 

“Stop acting like your five and just talk to me!” 

“Why? So you can go on about what a moron I am? That I’m a weakling?” 

“You know I wasn’t trying to call you stupid or weak! I’m just worried!” 

“Okay, mum, I get it.” Paul muttered, pulling the blanket up to his chin. 

“Stop that and fucking listen!” John yelled, taking the duvet from Paul, and tossing it across the room. 

“What do you want?” Paul asked, tension in his voice. His dark hair a complete 

“To talk, dammit!” 

“Then go ahead! Nothing’s ever stopped you before!” 

“I didn’t want you to go because I’m…scared, Paul. I’m scared days will pass and you’ll never come back. And we’ll just he left knowing we could’ve kept that from happening.” John saw as Paul visibly tensed, his face contorted for a second as though he were about to cry. But he didn’t, keeping his composure. 

“John, love, I won’t let that happen.” Paul sat up and took John’s face in his hands. “I’ll be careful. I promise.” 

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, son.” John sadly chuckled, laying his hand over Paul’s. “I just don’t want you to just leave and not come back to us.” John closed his eyes and took a shallow breath, leaning into the touch. 

“I should be back in less than a day.” Paul explained. “If I see soldiers, I’ll come back, if I don’t, I’ll come back.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Paul knew what John was talking about, but part of him would rather dance around the topic. Paul had to come to terms with that though, he had to keep strong for John and the others. 

Paul sighed. “Then if I’m not back within a day, you’ll know.” Paul was eerily accepting of that possible fate. Talking about it so calmly and acknowledging that it’s possible. 

John shook his head, actually feeling his brown eyes grown misty. He hated looking so weak, especially in front of Paul. John attempted to hide the tears forming in his eyes, hoping to suck them back into his tear ducts. But Paul tilted the older guitarist’s head to be eye level with him. The bassist gave him a signature smile, and John lost it, feeling a few stray tears run down his face. Pulling Paul closer, John buried his face into Paul’s shoulder, steadying his breathing as a couple more tears fell and stained Paul’s shirt. Arms wrapped around John’s torso, holding him in place as he continued to shudder. 

“I love you.” John said, muffled by the fabric. 

“I love you too, Johnny.” 

With a sniff, John pulled away from his bandmate. With a deep breath, John reached into his shirt pocket, and presented the keys. Paul took them with a nod, moving to stand, only to be stopped. Paul tilted his head, urging for a reason. 

“Could you at least wait til later? Just a little more time?” John questioned, holding his arm in front of Paul. Paul lovingly smiled and agreed. 

“Just what do you have in mind to do until then?” Paul asked with a smirk. John pushed Paul on his back, only to lie next to him, crushing them together in the narrow bed. 

“I just want to stay here, right here until you go.” John put his arms back around Paul, and was reciprocated by the bassist. The tips of their noses touching as they locked eyes. The same romance and love from the other nights still so strong, they both reeked of it. John wanted to keep Paul safe in his arms for the rest of his life, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Just like John, Paul could take care of himself. But the thought of this being their last possible moment like this frightened John. However, it was pointless to fear death at this point. They came face to face with it so often now, it was as common as the sun rising. The older guitarist always knew death would come, but never would he think so early. 

Though, he didn’t want to think like that. He made it sound as though Paul were already dead and gone, even though he was right here trying to put on a happy façade. Holding Paul tightly, John shut his eyes and replaced the grim thoughts of death with ones of hope and escape as he focused on the warmth of his lover’s body. Perhaps John was just as selfish and stupid for giving Paul the keys, perhaps he did push Paul too much, but none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was this moment right here, and John was going to live in it as long as he could. 

 

\--- 

Paul left later day, when he noticed the sun was starting to set. The two spent their time together joking and telling stories, and overall just trying to make each other laugh. Later, the bassist had drifted off with John, wishing to stay in the intimate embrace. Paul didn’t even realize he had been in bed the entire day with the older guitarist, but he had 

been. Placing a light kiss to John’s closed eyelids, Paul slipped off of the small bed, and put his shoes on. With the keys in his hand, Paul tiptoed out the door, and downstairs, but not before making sure Desmond wasn’t around. He peeked from the last step, only to see Ringo and George on the couch together, whispering about something. When they noticed Paul was there, they instantly went silent. 

“What were you talking about, lads?” Paul asked, tossing the keys in his hand. 

“Nothing, just you know, stuff.” George mumbled, twirling his fingers. Paul gave a suspicious look to both of them. 

“We were just saying that maybe you shouldn’t go?” Ringo scratched his head. 

“I’ve made my choice already.” Paul jingled the keys in front of them in annoyance of having to repeat himself.

“But, Paul-“ 

“No, I’ve talked to John already, I’ll be careful, I won’t even be gone a day.” 

“And if you’re not?” George made a concerned expression. 

“Then you’ll know.” George swallowed hard. Paul shook his head. “John and I already had this talk, I don’t want to talk like that, but I know it could happen. I will try my hardest to make it back, though. Even if the soldiers refuse to wait, I’ll come back.” George and Ringo knew it was pointless to protest, and simply gave in. They let Paul continue out the door without another word, save for a goodbye. 

 

\--- 

The next day came, and the three tried to remain hopeful as time passed by. Desmond had not returned either, but that was expected considering his last time away. John would glance out the window at every opportunity, waiting to see his bandmate again, but he never appeared. With a sigh, he would look away, trying to remember the feeling of Paul’s warm body against his again. He felt the warmth fade with every hour. His bandmates would say Paul will be back soon, but John couldn’t help but be skeptical. 

Nightfall came, and their host was still away. John squinted through the window, but could barely see through the dark. He rushed to the door and swung it open. Scanning the area, he saw nothing, no van or Paul in sight. The warmth he held onto was gone.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay! Thanks again for reading, you're all fantastic! :)

George and Ringo watched as their despondent friend, slinked from the door. His face filled with dread as he plopped down onto the couch, still keeping his eyes on the door. The two quietly inched towards the older guitarist, silently deciding who would speak first. Ringo motioned to George, widening his eyes, and darting his eyes to John. George, shaking his head, tilted to the older guitarist to urge Ringo to speak. 

“John?” Ringo finally croaked out. John gave no answer. “John, come on, don’t be like this. I’m sure Paul will be back soon.” 

“It’s been a whole fucking day.” John muttered, holding himself tightly. 

“Doesn’t mean you should jump to that. Can’t hold Paul to be punctual right now, can we?” 

“It’s not a jump if it’s true. He said ONE DAY, any longer and it’s obvious what happened.” 

“He’ll be back,” George stumbled, “he’s got to.” John forced himself to not look his bandmates in the eyes, keeping himself staring ahead. He thought he was going to cry, but no tears came. 

“No he won’t! Take your fucking blinders off!” John still kept his eyes on the door. 

“We’re just trying to keep hopeful!” Ringo countered. 

“You’re keeping blind hope, son.” John bitterly muttered. His bandmates had nothing to say now, as they glanced between each other. It was then when John snapped his head to them. “Don’t you see?? Paul’s either dead or one of them!” John spat. Pushing himself up from the couch, John stomped into the dining room, past the broken radio. George and Ringo tentatively followed behind John, watching as he sat down and buried his head in his arms on the table. With a heavy sigh, John went quiet again. 

“John, please, just give Paul a little more time before pronouncing him dead.” George said with his throat going dry. This time, John had not responded with a comeback, only burying his head more. A muffled response soon came from John. The younger guitarist reached a hand out, laying it gently on John’s shoulder. John jumped, his head shooting upwards, and his body springing back. John jerked his shoulder and grabbed his chair. With a growl, John threw the chair, narrowly missing his bandmates as it crashed to the floor. The three froze, focusing on the chair. 

“Fucking idiot.” John muttered, pushing his bandmates aside, and going to the steps to leave George and Ringo. 

The door to the master bedroom swung open. John narrowed his eyes to the family portrait, then stomped over to grab the picture off of the wall. He gripped its sides so tight, one would think the frame would crack in his hands. 

“Why do we always get people like you?” John muttered, throwing the portrait to the ground. His foot came down on it multiple times, with loud grunts accompanying it. Digging his heel into Desmond’s face, John let out another cry of, “Why?!” 

“Fucking idiot! This what you wanted, Paulie?!” John kicked the destroyed picture aside. “You wanted to look like some noble tart?! Well you are, Paul! FANTASTIC!” The older guitarist’s hand flew to John’s eyes, as if to hide some sort of shame from the invisible presence. He stumbled forward, and collapsed onto the bed. He breathed deeply, the smell of Paul still in the sheets. His own senses taunted him with the scent of the person that John will never see again. Grasping for a pillow, he shoved his fast into the soft object. John had teared up before, but it had been since his mother’s death that he completely broke down. Rather than a few tears, that same feeling of a sob ripping through him was there. John heaved into the pillow, smothering his face more so that a noise could not be heard. A whimper or two escaped, causing him to sink his teeth into the pillow as he sobbed. 

“You stupid tart...” he whimpered, feeling as though his face were absolutely burning. Shame mixed with the broken feelings in his chest. Shame for the fact that he allowed Paul to go, and shame that he cried into his pillow like a teenaged girl. The feeling of weakness disgusted him, but still, he continued to cry until his tear ducts were dry. Releasing his hold on the pillow, John let his head rest against the now wet material. Stray tears rolled over his nose and cheek, and fell onto the pillow. There was one last simple before John was too exhausted to stay awake, and fell asleep. 

“John can’t be right.” George said, slumping over the couch. “Paul’s coming back, he’s got to.” Ringo didn’t know how to answer, he wanted to be optimistic, but every minute that passed took that will away. Still, Ringo couldn’t bear to say it. 

“Yeah, he’s probably coming back now.” Ringo gave George a pat. “Maybe he’s caught in traffic.” He smiled, then George reflected the same grin, which faded as quick as it came. 

“You don’t think he’s not back because…he left us behind. Do you?” he asked. 

“Why would you think that?” Ringo questioned, almost laughing because of how surprised he was. George shrugged and licked his lips. “Is it because of, you know, Brian…?” George looked as though he didn’t want to speak, face flushing a little. 

“It’s-It’s not that.” 

“Then why would you think Paul would run off?” George didn’t have an answer, which told Ringo much more. “He wouldn’t leave us, you know he wouldn’t.” 

“I know, it’s just…after that I can’t help but think-“ 

“I know, but Paul won’t do that. He’ll be back for us, I know he will.” Ringo assured. “He’s just taking longer than he thought he would. That’s all.” Ringo said, sitting back on the couch next to George. 

“I don’t know.” 

“He will.” Ringo asserted. George shrugged again and looked down. 

“Ritch?” 

“Hm?” 

“I didn’t want to say it, but I almost wish that Paul were dead. You know, if he did leave without us, I’d rather believe he died trying to come back.” George rubbed his arm, squeezing it tightly every so often. The drummer brought his arm around George. 

“Paul didn’t leave us.” Ringo said again. 

“I’m horrible, aren’t I?” George’s voice quivered. 

“No, Georgie.” Ringo pulled George down to press his lips to his forehead. “You just- you’re just over thinking it. We just have to give Paul more time, I know it.” George didn’t have anymore to say, so they sat together in silence. Guilt plagued George’s thoughts, but not entirely for what he thought about Paul, but about John. Here George was next to his lover, even through all of this, they were still peacefully sitting side by side. But John, he was upstairs alone with only his mind. John was alone with either the thought of his best friend and lover leaving them in one of the most horrific ways, or the most cowardly. George allowed the drummer to lean on his shoulder and rest his head. 

John felt around in the darkness of the room. He had awoken what felt like an hour later, feeling worse than when he fell asleep. His senses felt clogged, and an excruciating pain pounded in his head. Every turn of his head caused another sharp pain to stab at him. Each step down the steps was a new groan that escaped him as his hand cradled his head. 

There was a soft snoring downstairs, John turned and realized as he got closer that it was George and Ringo on the couch. John didn’t mean to grimace towards them, but he did. He sniffled once, then again, the air of the house dusty and seemingly low. John had to get fresh air, he needed to get away from the house. Pushing the door open, John stepped outside. What he saw, he wasn’t sure was real at first, as he thought the darkness was tricking him. However, it was real; Desmond, crouched over on the edge of the porch, hugging himself. He was muttering something under his breath, but John could barely make it out. Though, he could make out that Desmond had been smoking, as he reeked of smoke. The smell stunk, but it planted the thought to John of how much he desperately craved a cigarette right now. The older guitarist fought the ridiculous urge to ask Desmond for a smoke, and attempted to back away without making a noise. The creaky wood of the porch gave him away, and Desmond snapped to John. 

“Why are you outside?” he muttered. John didn’t say anything, biting back any rude remark. The moonlight shined on Desmond’s form to reveal what looked to be dirt on his skin and shirt. 

“How long have you been here?” John asked. 

“Not long. I just came back from the cellar, I’m feeling much better now.” Desmond got up and turned to John. He stepped closer, his hand resting on John’s shoulders. John inwardly gagged. The man smelled god awful, the smoke was just as strong, with some other putrid stink mixed. Pulling away, John moved closer inside the door, only to be followed. Desmond focused on George and Ringo, his mouth twitching to a tired smile. 

“They must be exhausted.” Desmond said. 

“Erm- yeah.” Desmond’s small grin then dropped. 

“Where’s Alex?” 

“What?” 

“Alex, is he upstairs?” John felt as though his heart were about to stop. Alex. The name suddenly came back to him as he recalled the photo. John cursed under his breath as the man became impatient. 

“Where is he?!” Desmond asked, becoming louder. John, his brain going completely haywire, could barely think of a sentence to form as a response. 

“Gone.” Was the first word to come to mind. 

“Gone?!! What do you mean gone?!” 

“I mean that he’s run off!” John just finished his sentence when Desmond had shoved him against the wall. His face hovered over John’s, his tired, yet hysterical eyes boring holes through him. 

“You let him die!!” he screamed, his horribly smelling breath hitting John’s face. 

“I didn’t let him! He just left!” 

“He didn’t just leave!! You allowed him to! Have you lost your mind??” John was slammed to the wall again. He cried out in pain as his head hit the wall. John’s hands flew to Desmond’s chest, pushing as hard as he could. John hit the wall again with a loud bang, this time stirring his bandmates awake. Before Desmond could continue his screaming, he was interrupted by George and Ringo pulling him away from John. Desmond, flailing his arms, got the two to back away closer to John. 

“How could you do this?! I was barely gone, and you lost one of our damn children!” Tears formed in Desmond’s eyes as he shuddered. “Poor Alex, that poor boy, doesn’t even know what he’s done!” Desmond wailed. The boys almost felt themselves coming close to tears at the reminder of Paul. 

“Unless…” Desmond raised his eyes to them. “Unless he didn’t leave at all.” The three boys had no idea what the man was thinking. They looked to each other in hopes of 

getting an answer, though no one had one. They waited patiently for an answer from Desmond, but he oddly grinned. 

“Go upstairs and get some rest. It’s late and it will be morning soon, so sleep while you can.” He pointed to the stairs, and they complied, not knowing what else to do. Desmond remained downstairs, mumbling and conversing with himself. 

As they shuffled to their rooms, John thought it would be in his best interest to follow George and Ringo. The two bandmates thought to question John, but understood that none of them wanted to be on their own right now. The door shut behind them, and each of them took to their beds. 

“What should we do?” George whispered. 

“I say we make a run for it.” John answered. 

“What good would that do us? We haven’t got a car. You can’t expect us to walk back to the city.” Ringo retorted. 

“Better than this shithole.” 

“John’s got a point, Ritchie, I don’t want to stay here either. Even if it keeps us alive, the man’s crazy.” 

“I know that, Geo, but will we be alright once we’re out of here?” 

“We made it this far.” George said. 

“We could sneak out tomorrow morning.” John said. Before either of them could say anything, Desmond burst into the room, a tray of four cups in his hands. The boys jumped in surprise as he made his way inside. 

“I thought I’d make us all tea.” he said, handing each of them a hot cup. “To help us relax.” he added, bringing his cup to his lips. The three stared down at the drinks, then each other. They took small sips, the hot liquid slid down their throats. Desmond smiled and walked to the door. He stood in the doorway, and raised his cup again. Rather than speak, the boys communicated through subtle facial changes. With George raising his eyebrows, Ringo widening his eyes, and John crinkling his nose. After what felt like forever, Desmond finally began to walk away, leaving the boys who were just about finished with their tea. However, that’s when something strange happened. 

It was George who noticed first, he was feeling oddly tired. His vision was blurring and he felt his mind drifting. John was the second to feel the same way, then Ringo. 

“Doess anyone else feel… funny?” George asked, slurring his words. 

“No, jusst tired.” John answered. It was only a minute later, and George soon collapsed onto the bed. 

“Shit…” John mumbled. “What the fuck wasss in that…” John soon followed George. Ringo pushed himself up, and forced his wobbling legs to move out the door. Desmond stood at the end of the hall, and Ringo propelled himself towards him. 

“What are y’ doin’??” Ringo asked, pushing the man. 

“I’m saving you, boy. Your dad’s going to save you.” Ringo felt a block of ice form in his stomach. He began to weakly hit Desmond wherever he could. 

“You’re fuckin’ mental!” he mustered up. 

“You’ll thank me. Now go on to sleep.” he calmly said, taking one of the drummer’s wrists. Ringo wouldn’t let himself fall asleep though, he forced himself to stay awake and fight. Though, it was getting harder as everything became blurrier. He tried to thrash and fight Desmond. 

“Stop that!” Desmond demanded. This only caused Ringo to try and fight harder through his haze. 

“You’re f-fucking mentall!” Ringo said, still trying to form coherent sentences. He didn’t notice in his state, as Desmond raised his cup, and bashed it on his head. A white light flashed in front of Ringo’s eyes as he fell to the floor. He was not fully out of it when he heard Desmond repeating how he would save them. Ringo wanted to get up and fight, but his body felt too heavy. Finally, he went limp on the hardwood floor. The last thing he heard were Desmond's heavy footsteps as he most likely made his way back to the room where George and John lied just as cold to the world.


	28. Chapter 28

The engine of the van roared as Paul drove from the house. Looking back in the rearview mirror, Paul said a silent prayer that his friends would be alright when he returned. Paul stepped on the gas pedal, not wanting to waste a second. The light of the vehicle lit the road ahead, but even with that, he had to squint to see far. Even worse, the never ending country road was beginning to hypnotize him. His eyelids were becoming droopy and he stifled a yawn, but he forced himself to continue. Paul had to keep going, he couldn’t let another friend down, not again. 

When Paul finally reached just outside of London, he wished his only problem was almost falling asleep at the wheel. The city was barely recognizable; resembling something out of one of those cheesy science fiction movies. Bodies littered the streets, piling on top of each other as though it were the black plague. Paul tried to not let it get to him, knowing that it wouldn’t accomplish anything. 

Just then, a banging came down on his side of the vehicle. He looked in the side mirror to see a man in tatters and rags banging his fists against the van. He was screaming something, most likely to help him, but Paul did his best to tune him out. 

“He’s one of them, he’s one of them, he’s one of them!” Paul chanted like his own personal mantra. 

“Please! Please stop the van, I’m not infected! Help me!!” the frightened man slapped his hands on the side. Paul gripped the steering wheel tightly, that one part of him screamed to help the poor man. But the part of him that remembered everything that happened since this first started was stronger. The bassist sped up, causing the man to stumble and fall onto the ground. The last Paul saw was the man not even bothering to get up. 

Paul looked around the city, and so far there was no sign of military. Paul suddenly became bombarded with the thought that the military was already here, but he combatted the thought by remembering that it wasn’t too long ago that they heard the radio announcement. They couldn’t have been here already, there are too many people in London to be done that quickly. At least Paul hoped that was the case, after all, Paul didn’t truly know how many were still alive in London. Paul and his bandmates could be the only ones left, and they would never know. 

Paul continued to drive throughout the city, and still had not found anything. The sun was beginning to rise, and Paul welcomed the natural light to help him see. The familiar sound of an infected cry rose. Paul shuddered and took a deep breath, searching around for where it may be coming from. The cry came again, definitely from the front. Paul saw ahead one figure, then two. They came closer, and revealed themselves as Mal and Neil. This time, they had no one with them, just each other. Paul froze for a second, going back to the last encounter, when Brian was torn from them. He thought they didn’t notice him, however, their faces shifted to look him dead in the eyes. Then, as usual for these things, they sprinted towards the van, slobbering and growling, foam flying everywhere. 

Paul came out of his frozen state, and put the van into drive. A though it were a knee jerk reaction, Paul floored it, smashing straight into his two former friends. They slid under the vehicle with a howl, and am attempt to claw at the hood. Paul didn’t stop and continued to drive. Putting the van in reverse, he ran over the bodies again, and once more going forward. A horrible crunching noise echoed as the van crushed the two. The bassist’s stomach lurched, feeling something under him squish and break. He avoided looking in the mirror, he couldn’t bare to see the state the people he once called friends were in. Biting back any urge to cry, Paul drove on. 

Paul finally stopped the van, feeling that this whole endeavor was pointless, that he would have to go back a failure. He knew he couldn’t be gone too long, the others, especially John, would begin to freak out. With a groan, Paul pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. He didn’t want to think of the faces of his bandmates when he returned with the bad news. The disappointed, hopeless looks that screamed, “you’ve let us down.” The bassist felt sick to his stomach and mumbled apologies to the imaginary people in the van. But just as he spoke, there was a noise that caught his attention. The bassist fearfully looked around until he realized it was coming from above. A helicopter, flying just over his head. A smile spread across his face as he quickly started the vehicle. He sped after the helicopter hoping that it was what he thought it was, and thankfully it was. 

As he followed the helicopter, the bassist clearly saw military vehicles ahead, with multiple white tents, clearly to form a temporary base. Funnily enough, it was right back at the Odeon Theatres where it all began for the boys. Paul’s smile never faltered once as he continued forward. The helicopter landed behind the base, blowing bits of debris towards Paul as he stopped the van. It was then that one of the military men jumped out with a large firearm. 

“Step out of the van!” the soldier demanded. Paul shakily obliged, thinking back to the constable. 

“Don’t shoot, I’m not infected!” Paul cried, raising his arms. The soldier lowered his weapon slightly, and stepped forward. 

“Aren’t you one of those Beatles?” Paul quickly nodded, not daring to make a sudden move while he was in such a vulnerable state. Before he knew it, the bassist was being led inside the base, leaving his van behind. 

“Jesus,” the soldier grimaced, “where are the others? There are four of you, right?” 

“Yes, the others are back in the country.” Paul explained. “We hid out there since it seemed safer, and when we heard help was coming, I came to make sure.” The soldier nodded, but Paul for some reason was not convinced that he was fully listening. 

“You are here to get people out, right?” Paul felt like a complete idiot for asking. 

“Get civilians out and to the States until further notice.” he answered. “We’ve put out an announcement for anyone who is alive to come to the temporary base in front of the Odeon Theatres.” he said, pushing and forcing Paul to walk along with him.

“That’s great!” Paul clapped his hands together. “I just would need to leave and grab the others, they’ll be so glad!” The soldier looked at him with a face of confusion. 

“I’m not permitted to allow anyone to leave. That’s putting the life of someone I’ve been trusted with to be lost.” 

“But I told you. I came here to make sure you were all here. When I said that, I also meant I would have to go back.” 

He shook his head stubbornly. “Can’t allow it. They should be listening in to the radio if they wanted to know so badly.” 

“That’s not right!” Paul protested. “I can’t leave them to die!” 

“We can put out another announcement if that will make you happy.” The man was clearly growing annoyed, but the bassist couldn’t care less. He pictured his friends sitting there, slowly wasting away as an announcement was sent to a radio that could not even function properly. 

“That won’t work.” Paul said. 

“Well is there a working telephone.” 

“Why would there be, mister? The lines have got to be down!” 

“Listen, I’m trying to cooperate, you’re the one being difficult.” The soldier jabbed a finger in Paul’s chest. 

“I wouldn’t have to be difficult if you’d just let me get my mates and bring them here.” 

“I’ve already explained that I can’t do that.” Paul felt the soldier pushing him towards one of the white tents. “We will release another announcement and search the city for your friends if they decide to come, but that’s all we can do.” Paul was forcefully pushed into the tent, which was being occupied by two other people. One of them being another soldier, the other was a woman with frazzled blonde hair, white sweater, and long blue skirt. The soldier was anything but small, his height seemed double his own, with a strong jaw, and large arms. They seemed to be getting a bit close. The two jumped when Paul was shoved inside. 

“Looks like we got another.” the new soldier said mainly to the young woman. Paul looked between the two, thinking about what to do. He had to find a way to leave and get his friends, Paul had no plan to leave without them. The woman gave Paul a smile and tiny wave. She rose to walk to him, with her hand out. 

“I’m Mary.” 

“I’m Pa-“ 

“I know, you’re Paul McCartney.” she giggled. “I’d have to be living under a rock to not know who you are, dear.” 

“Don’t go getting sweet on him!” the soldier said. “Never know what could happen while we’re still here.” Mary made a face and stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Don’t mind Rocky, he’s a right fool.” Paul noticed Rocky chuckle at her comment. They were definitely more than close, but how long could they have been here? Was the military here for days, weeks? The question that worried Paul the most was was this one of their last days before leaving? If that was the case, Paul didn’t have much time. 

“In all seriousness, you’re lucky to have gotten here. It’s a mess out there.” Rocky shook his head. “How did you make it?” 

“Well, me and my mates we took shelter in a couple places. First there was a flat, then we decided to go to the country.” 

“I’m sorry.” Rocky gravely said. Paul inquired what he had meant. “I’m sorry you lost your friends. They couldn’t make it with you and all.” 

“No, they’re still alive.” Paul assured. “But they’re still in the country waiting for me to come back for them.” 

“They won’t let you leave.” Mary interjected. “They won’t allow it once you’re in.” Paul knew this, but hearing it again only made him feel worse. The boys would end up thinking that Paul either died, or they may even think he left on purpose. That he ran away to save himself with no more than a single thought about them. 

“It’s too dangerous to let anyone leave.” Rocky reasoned. 

“Bullshit, we’ve dealt with all of this before you lot even came!” Paul lashed. He was surprised to see that Rocky had not fought back, but passively shrugged. 

“We’re all just following orders, son.” Paul huffed and turned away. 

“What even happened to you? You look horrible.” Mary commented. Paul, in such a jaded state, wanted to shoot back something, but pushed the urge away. Paul sighed and explained his entire story to his two new tent mate, leaving out a few details about the intimacy of their relationships and not actually naming his friends. Though, Mary at least could tell who was who in his retelling, she seemed like a bit of a fan after all. 

Paul told his story, then listened as Mary explained her own. Apparently she had planned on seeing The Beatles live, but caught a cold just beforehand. The cold, she claimed, saved her life, as she most likely would have been dead if she went to the show. Her friend however, was not so lucky and Mary had not heard from her since. Paul swallowed, thinking all the way back to the supermarket. Holding his wrist tightly, he tried to conceal his shaking at the memory. Mary did not notice and continued on. 

During the outbreak, her and her husband planned on locking themselves away, and wait for help. Clearly the plan worked for her, but Paul did not see a man proclaiming to be her husband. But Paul decided against asking for details, knowing that in the same position he would barely be able to speak upon the subject. 

“And after all that hiding,” Mary gravely sighed, “here I am.” she put on a fake smile and looked to Rocky. “And I’m fairly sure Rocky hasn’t got a story for us, so I suppose that gets us all caught up.” 

“At least you made it.” Paul offered. 

“Would have been nice if it wasn’t just me though, love.” Uncomfortable silence settled as Mary moved closer to Rocky. Paul watched with envy as it was only him to comfort himself. Paul poked his head out of the tent to see one soldier just outside, ready to shoot if necessary. Paul didn’t know whether to feel secure or scared, he guessed a little of both. 

The bassist didn’t offer much else to the conversation that continued between the two. Trapped in the tent, he spent most of the time staring into space, thinking of ways to get to his friends. Nothing could come to mind, it was like a case of writer’s block but in real life. He sat and continued to think, then every so often he’d drift to George, Ringo, and John. How worried they might be, how they’re practically planning his funeral at that very moment. Looking outside again, Paul noted with shock and horror that it was nightfall, he had lost an entire day. An entire day that could have been used to save the three closest men he ever had. Paul slumped backwards, his head in his hand. He tried not to think anymore. 

 

\--- 

George was the first to come to, his head spinning as he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar, dim place. He peered around and thought he was dreaming, nothing looked memorable. Then that smell hit, that godawful smell the caused the bile to rise in his throat. It was indescribable, the only way he could describe it is burnt and rotten. With a swallow, George went to stand up, but found he could not even move his arms. Rope was rubbing against him, along with the bodies of who he assumed were his bandmates. He jerked a little. 

“John? Ritchie?” he whispered with urgency. A moans and groans escaped from the two of them. 

“What the hell happened?” Ringo grumbled. “Why are we tied up?!” 

“Good question, Ritchie with I’m sure a fantastic answer.” John said, struggling against the binds. John then loudly gagged. “What the fuck is that smell?!” Ringo only answer with a hard cough and shake of his head. 

“Smells like someone lit their shit on fire each day for a year.” George groaned, desperately wanting to cover his nose. 

“I thought you’d never wake up!” Desmond called, followed by a light clicking. The light was not nearly as bright as it could be, but it was enough to show the boys that they were indeed in a cellar. Desmond approached them, his expression mixed despite his welcoming tone. 

“What the hell is going on?!” John demanded to know with a grunt. Desmond knelt down and took John’s face in his hands. 

“You don’t know. Why would you?” 

“What do you mean?!” John grew furious with the vagueness of the situation. 

“Shh, I understand now, love.” he said tenderly. “I understand why you and the kids have been like this.” He planted an unwanted kiss to John’s cheek. 

“And what may I ask is that??” Desmond’s face became cold as he answered John. 

“You’re all infected.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so Happy New Year guys! Hope you all enjoy this new chapter, but please note that there is in fact mentions and descriptions of things related to gore and death. So please be wary, but other than that, I appreciate all the support so much! I'm sad to say that by the looks of it, either the next chapter or the following will be the final. So I just want to say thanks again and enjoy!

Paul would not allow himself to fall asleep, to give him any sense of comfort while with the knowledge that he may never see his friends again. That he would have to live on without them when it all could have been avoided. He hated that he always ended up in this situation; helpless and wallowing in his own shit while everyone else takes the fall. It always came back to that, so much so that Paul was convinced that he enjoyed it. He must have gotten off on feeling this way, why else would he allow himself to get that way over and over? 

Paul didn’t speak with his tent mates anymore as the night approached. Instead, he chose to bring his knees to his chest and lay his head on his arms that rested on top. Before going to sleep, Paul had glanced at Rocky and Mary every once in a while as they interacted. The way he would comfort her, or the way Mary joked. It reminded Paul a bit of him and John, then the pit in him grew. Now, they lied together the best they could in the crowded tent. Mary’s had resting on his chest. Paul subconsciously whimpered and turned to the opening of the tent. He thought to run for it, but knew that was suicide. These soldiers were ordered to keep survivors, if one just started running, Paul was sure they would think he was infected. Then it would really be all over. Paul felt the urge to cry, but refused to. Instead he held his composure and kept looking ahead. That was when he felt a light tap. 

“Are you alright?” Mary quietly asked, wiping a tired eye and pushing hair out of her face. Moving his eyes to her, Paul bit his bottom lip and shook his head. She relaxed next to him, getting to his eye level. 

“I have to go.” Paul mumbled. 

“Go? You know you can’t.” she said, bluntly. 

“I need to go back. Don’t you understand? I can’t leave them.” Paul said, furrowing his brow. 

“I understand, they are just doing their job.” Mary said, recoiling when she noticed the hurt in Paul’s face. “I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to go.” 

“I can’t leave without them, I can’t.” Paul sighed. 

“You’ll be okay, you can start over. When we’ve been taken to the states, you can start again, yeah?” Paul shook his head. He couldn’t believe the way she spoke. As if he could just brush everything off, everyone he loved being left to rot, and start over like it was nothing. His insides felt like fragile, twisted balloons, ready to pop at any wrong movement. 

“I can’t “start again,” how could I??” his lips curled into a hostile snarl. He looked as though he were to kill her with only his eyes that burned horribly. 

“I have, it hurts, but if I can, you can.” Mary remained stoic in her response despite Paul nearly lashing out at her. 

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve already found someone else.” Paul glanced at Rocky, still asleep. Mary shoved Paul a little, her face contorted in annoyance and anger. Her once calm and neutral expression ripped off and tossed away like a used up, old mask. She delivered a slap to his arm. 

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt! I’ve just found someone to help ease it!” Mary then seemed to remember where she was, and immediately quieted down. “I’m sorry, I just… I just don’t appreciate treated like I don’t even care.” Paul nodded, knowing the feeling all too well. “I did care when he was taken from me. But I couldn’t just lie down and wallow, I had to pick myself up. I never will really get over it, but I won’t let it keep me from continuing to live.” Mary glanced at Paul, waiting for some sort of answer. Paul however, didn’t know what to say or what she wanted to truly hear. She then perked up a little and raised her eyebrows. “Is someone you, you know, love back there?” 

“I love all of them.” Paul spat, annoyed she would even think he didn’t even so much as care about his own friends. 

“No, I mean, a girlfriend or something?” she asked. Paul didn’t know what to say, he bit back a correction. 

“Again, I love them all, but…yes there is someone I love that way back there.” Paul vaguely admitted. 

“I knew it.” Mary grinned triumphantly, but it didn’t last long. Her face became filled with understanding and sorrow. Giving his shoulder a squeeze, Mary shakily exhaled. 

“I’m sorry, dear.” Mary’s voice was tender, almost maternal. Her thumb rubbed circles into his shoulder, and Paul couldn’t help but shiver at the comforting act. He wasn’t sure why he did, he thought that maybe it was due to the knowledge of her partner. Paul realized though, that that was not it. Mary, between the name and the kind personality, reminded him of his mother. Even when she suddenly looked him in the eyes to give a weak smile, he saw her face. 

Suddenly she scooched over to the slumbering soldier, motioning towards him. Paul, unsure of what she was doing, stared at her blankly for a minute. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll try to help.” she said with a wink as she shook Rocky a little. Paul gave her a grateful smile that said more than any words. A new feeling was in him, it was hope. He had the feeling that all was not lost yet. That there was still a chance to save his friends. 

 

\--- 

“You’ve all been infected.” Desmond said. John, George, and Ringo’s mouths hung open as he spoke. 

“You can’t be serious!” John protested in disbelief to what Desmond claimed. 

“I am, love! I knew there was something off. The way you were suddenly acting, wanting to run away and turn the kids against me. And then the kids going along with it, it all makes sense! I didn’t want to admit it at first, but you know I’m not a stupid man, I knew what had to be done.” Desmond went on, running his fingers through John’s greasy hair. His eyes were red and wild, yet tired, similar to the constable they met long ago. 

“You’re fucking crazy!” John yanked his head away. Desmond seemed genuinely hurt by the action. He reeled his hand away like a kicked puppy. 

“You’re just gonna leave us down here to starve to death?!” George asked, panic obviously in his tone. 

“I could never do that. I’d never intentionally torture or hurt you.” Desmond replied, pulling out a small box of matches. “No, I won’t leave you. I’m going to stay down here and save you.” They froze, eyes fixated on the little box of matches before him. He had not taken one out yet, but instead lightly tossed the box a couple times. 

“What are you going to do?” Ringo fearfully asked. 

“The only thing I can do at this point. There’s only one way to destroy this horrible virus.” Desmond said with a sniffle, his hand beginning to shake. The boys had an idea of what he exactly meant, though they wished they were wrong. 

“Jesus Christ…” Ringo muttered to George. 

“He doesn’t mean he’s gonna…?” George whispered. 

“I think he does.” Ringo answered. 

“Shut your gobs for a second.” John whispered to them before giving Desmond his attention again. 

“Listen,” John began, remaining as calm as he could, “we’re not infected.” It was obvious that their words meant nothing to the man. Still, John knew he had to at least try to reason with him. They always said he had a way with words, right? 

“You wouldn’t know! You never know yourself, only the uninfected can tell!” 

“I know we haven’t changed!” Despite his outer, fearless appearance, John’s heart was about to burst from his chest. He could feel his bandmates’ quivering bodies against his own, the smell that clouded them seemed to only worsen. 

“Don’t lie to me!” Desmond growled, stomping his foot. “You have changed! Maybe not physically, but this disease must start mental because you’re not how you were! And don’t try saying you haven’t! I spent days down here thinking and thinking and THINKING about this. About why you would talk to me like this, why the children were even going against me, but finally I knew. I didn’t want to think it was true, but now I know.” 

“How did you even stay down here for days without food?” Ringo questioned, giving another tug at the binds. Though Desmond was not the pinnacle of good health, he did not give signs of starvation, even after being down here for a week straight. 

“I’ve been cooking leftover meat down here. I always keep something down in here in case I need to stay for long periods of time. Like when I had to get away for that week, remember? I still have some, I told you I wouldn’t torture you. I wanted you three to at least eat.” Desmond shuffled to a darker corner of the room. The sound of dragging was heard, and the rotten smell was definitely getting closer. John couldn’t help but retch, then he heard George do the same. With a toss, Desmond threw whatever he was dragging in front of them. A loud ringing the boys couldn’t even recognize as their own screaming echoed. 

George retched again, this time followed by the sound of vomit hitting the ground. Ringo gave a few loud coughs and heaves, while John was sure he was not too far behind from vomiting as well. What was there was not only the most horrific thing they had ever seen, but the most foul and gut wrenching. In front of them were four rotting, disfigured corpses, three small ones and one large adult. Though, the boys would never know what these people specifically looked like, as most of their features were either rotted away or burned. The eye sockets were empty and the hair, what little there was, was stringy and hung loosely from the scalp, and the jaws each hung open. It was almost as if they were trying to scream for help. The flesh was in a later stage of rotting, days and days later after the death. Maggots could be visibly seen crawling and wriggling around the blackened skin. Upon a further look John could see tears and what looked to be bite marks left all over areas, mainly the stomachs and chests. The older guitarist finally felt the hot bile rise a bit. The man had killed his family, and had been eating what was left all this time. John couldn’t look anymore, nor could George and Ringo. With a shuddering gasp, John shut his eyes and turned away for a second. 

“You bleeding psycho.” John muttered under his breath. Before he knew it, a large chunk of black flesh was being held directly in his face. 

“I know you must hate me, love, but I want you to at least eat.” Desmond pushed the charred flesh closer to John. The older guitarist gagged and kept his head turned. He held his breath, trying not to breathe. “Come on, love, just eat a bit. I thought you liked my cooking. Go on, I want you to at least not be hungry.” He pushed it into John’s face, close enough to where he could actually feel the decomposed flesh against him. John sharply gasped. He swore a maggot or two fell onto his lap, but he refused to look. 

“Stop it, please!” George cried with a gasp of air following, then a cough. “We’re not fucking infected!” Desmond finally moved from John to George. The flesh fell to the floor with an odd, low splat. 

“Don’t talk to me that way!” he pointed a finger in George’s face. Desmond’s stern tone dropped shortly after and was replaced with a quivering, scared one. He tenderly petted George’s hair, and moved down to wipe his cheek. “I don’t want to do this. Don’t think 

that I want this, for God’s sake, you’re my family!” Reaching out for Ringo, he stroked the side of his face, lingering for just a second. Finally, he stood and turned from them. He yanked and pulled at his own curled hair and began to sob. “I should have gotten us out while I could.” he whispered. 

“Then don’t!” Ringo spoke up. 

“Yeah, just-just let us go. You won’t have to do anything if you just let us go.” George added. Desmond shook his head, wiping at his wet eyes. 

“No, once you’ve fully turned you’ll be good as dead. If I don’t take care of this, someone else will. I won’t have that happen. Alex is gone, but there’s still a chance from keeping the rest of you from becoming another body in a pile on the street.” He then held the matches up to himself again. “The only way to fully destroy this virus is to burn it.” 

“You’re gonna burn us alive?!” John cried, turning his head to Desmond. 

“No, I’m going to give the virus more time to set in. Shouldn’t be much more than a few hours. You won’t feel any pain once you’ve turned…” Desmond took in a long breath. 

“You fucking loon, god damn listen to me! WE’RE NOT GONNA CHANGE! YOU’RE GONNA FUCKING BURN US ALIVE!” John screamed, not caring how Desmond would react or if he sounded like a hysterical bird. He had full right to be hysterical, as did his bandmates. Desmond collapsed before John, another sob raking his body as he threw his arms around him. He brought John in, burying his face into the older guitarist’s neck. John grimaced and wished he could push Desmond away as thick sweat from his face stuck to John. 

“I’m sorry I let this happen to you all. It’s my fault you got this way, I should have gotten us out of here while I could, when it was first announced. Now Alex’s run off and most likely killed by whatever nutcase is walking around!” Desmond cried harder, heaving and holding John tighter. His pungent breath carried up into John’s nostrils. “I could have saved you.” he mumbled, pressing his saliva coated lips to the crook of John’s neck. 

George and Ringo strained to look directly at each other. Both of their eyes were full of dismay and hopelessness. They were sure this was it. It pained George to see the drummer’s bright blue eyes drowned out by the redness of blood vessels. The younger guitarist he looked just as bad. 

With a kiss to John’s cheek, Desmond moved around them, planting a peck on George and Ringo’s foreheads. He followed each kiss with a short, but squeezing embrace. 

“I’m going to stay down here with you until you fully change. Like I said,” he swiped at his eyes again, gritting his teeth, “it won’t be long…”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so weird to think that this is the last chapter. I didn't think I'd actually get this far and get so much support, but I really do appreciate every single person who read this. I really hope some stick around to see what I write next, but for now I just want to say thank you, and I hope you enjoy the rest!

Mary gave Rocky another shake until he finally began to mumble. Moving his body a bit, Rocky grumbled and refused to open his eyes. With a huff, Mary gave a harder shake, hissing something in his ear. Pushing away her hand, he began to sat up on his elbows with an annoyed expression plastered. He inquired to what she wanted, to which Mary looked over to the bassist near her. Paul uncomfortably brushed his fingers through his dark hair, pushing locks away from his eyes. The outcome of this could be anything, but either way it was the fine line between the life and death of his friends.  

“Rocky,” Mary started, “he’s got to get out.”  

“You must be crazy. Have I and the many armed soldiers not made it clear? You can’t leave unless you’re infected, and if you are infected you’re as good as dead.” Rocky’s gaze shifted to Paul, who began to shift his weight again. He was not sure if his face was turning red from embarrassment or not, but he could certainly feel his heart rate pick up.  

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Paul dared to ask. The pounding of blood increased in his ears so much that he almost did not hear Rocky’s answer. Somehow though, the bassist listened through the incessant pounding as best as he could.  

“Are you deaf, Mr. Musician?” Rocky spat, face twisting with not only irritation, but confusion from Paul. “There’s nothing to do. If you didn’t want to be here, then you shouldn’t have come in, you fucking idiot.” 

“I was forced in before even  _knowing_ I couldn’t leave!” Paul bravely shot back. “I barely knew what was even going on, all I knew was I could get help!” Paul wasn’t sure if he would regret getting so bold to the soldier. After all, he could easily smash his teeth in, or blow him away without a second thought with one wrong word. Rocky groggily groaned, large fingers rubbing at his eyes, then his left temple. He scratched at the stubble on his face, and Paul mirrored the action before gnawing at his thumbnail for a bit. Rocky did not lash out, but instead remained in his semi relaxed position. 

“Why do you need to leave?” Rocky asked.  

“My mates-“ 

“And someone else.” Mary added in a somewhat sing-song, teasing tone. Rocky looked at her questioningly, wishing for an explanation. Paul’s throat tightened a little, his tongue was suddenly triple its size.  

“Can someone start talking?” Rocky requested, growing impatient incredibly fast.  

“Well she means- uh, y’know…” he stuttered, licking his lips. Was he shaking a little? 

“No I don’t know.” Rocky deadpanned. Mary, feeling the need to step in and put an end to Paul’s drawn out answer, spoke up. 

“There’s also someone he’s  _in love_  with back there.” Mary answered for him. 

“Love, eh?” Rocky chuckled a little. “Someone you love is back there?” 

“My mates are back there, and I love them more than anything.” Paul answered, still slightly irked at the wording of “love.” As if he could not feel the same towards his friends and bandmates. “But, yeah a person I’m in love with is also back there.” 

“What’s she like?” the soldier asked. Paul chortled, still biting back a correction. Mary punched Rocky lightly. He laughed again and directed his attention to Mary. “What?? I just wanted to know if she’s a nice girl!” Paul couldn’t hold back a giggle, picturing John’s face when he told him, but then a horrible reminder just returned. He may not be able to. Even if he did, John probably would want to hear anything but how he was mistaken for a woman. Not after their time with Desmond at least. The laughter died down and Paul became solemn, as did the other two shortly after.  

“I’m sorry, kid, I wish there was something I could do.” he apologized, scratching at his face again. Paul glared at the ground with his arms crossed like he would when he was five years old. He knew it wasn’t Rocky’s fault, but it was always something. It never failed, there always had to be  _something_  to ruin everything, to ruin their plans to finally be safe. A power-obsessed constable with a firearm, old friends turned into monsters, or delusional men in the country. It never failed.  

“I get it.” he said glumly. “You can’t do a damn thing.” 

“Listen,” Rocky pointed a finger, “if I could do something, I would!” 

“Rocky, calm down.” Mary said, putting a hand on his arm. Rocky only yanked away, clearly too annoyed to deal with any contact.   

“No! He’s over there getting pissed at me when my own hands are tied! There’s nothing I can do!” 

“He knows that.” 

“Clearly he doesn’t! I think that mop on his head is blocking any form of reason!”  

“Excuse me??” Paul spoke up, holding his glare.  

“You heard me! I don’t know how else to get it through that thick skull that there is absolutely  _nothing_ I can do!” Rocky answered as Mary tried to calm the two men down. She hushed and tried to get between them as their voices grew louder.  

“Do you want the whole damn city to hear??” she hissed, raising her hands. Rocky closed his mouth, letting out a few grumbles. Paul also didn’t talk, and instead scratched his head, grimacing at the dirtiness of his hair.  

“Sorry. He just isn’t getting it.” Rocky said, lowering his voice. “The only ways you’re allowed to leave is if you’re either infected or you’re a soldier that wishes to scour the area.” Paul lifted his gaze to outside the tent again. Although it was still dark out, he could make out a couple soldiers, including one returning and holding the hand of a small, childish figure. He gave his attention back to Rocky. “And last I checked, you don’t even have a uniform to pull that off.” That was when Mary’s face went blank, then stretched into a grin towards Rocky. Rocky raised an eyebrow.  

“Rocky, love, you don’t think that our friend could try your little uniform on for a second, do you?” she kept her smile, comically batting her eyelashes.  

“You are kidding.” he gave a dry laugh. “Do you think this is all a joke?” 

“It could work.” Mary said.  

“I’m twice the boy’s size! Someone will notice pretty fast when a soldier is swimming in his uniform!”  

“But it’ll be dark out, they won’t see it as clearly.” Mary reasoned.  

“Yeah, all I’d have to do is get to a vehicle and hurry out.” Paul added. Ricky gave another laugh of disbelief and shook his head.  

“Christ, I think you’re both crazy.” the soldier said. “And what will I say when someone comes in to see me in my underwear?”  

“Say you were with me and you lost your clothes.” Mary said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Rocky broke out into another laughing fit, Mary began to giggle along with him.  

“This will never work, but-“ 

“But?” Paul asked, leaning forward.  

“But we’ll give it a shot.” Rocky said removing his clothes. Paul did the same, throwing his dirt covered dress shirt aside, followed by his trousers. The bassist graciously took the uniform, and began to put it on. Paul both internally laughed and screamed, the uniform was huge. It was almost comedic the way the shirt was long enough to pass as a short dress on him and how the pant bottoms almost fully covered his bare feet. The other two took notice and began to snicker as well. Tossing the bassist his boots, Paul quickly slid them on and laced them up. Just like the clothes, the shoes were much too big on him. He had to look like a complete clown at this point.  

“Fucking Christ…” Rocky put a hand to his face.   

“He just has to get to a vehicle.” Mary assured. “And they’re at the front right?” Rocky nodded. “See? That’s not so far.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“And they may not notice if I tuck the shirt and use my belt.” Paul said, grabbing the black belt to tighten around his waist. He looked like a kid trying on his father’s clothes, but Paul assured himself that he wouldn’t need to pass for long. Rocky grumbled and groaned again as Mary reassured him.  

“Can you at least sound a bit more American?” Rocky requested. “Someone’s going to notice if you just happen to have a different accent.” Paul nodded, thinking of his best impression. 

“Like this…y’all?” he said, sounding like an Elvis Presley impersonator. Rocky looked like he was about to hit Paul, but shook his head.. 

“Okay fine, just try  _not_ to talk then, and definitely don’t go around asking for keys. There are keys in the right pocket for the first one on the left, and if you ask for keys,  _especially_  with that voice, someone will know.” Paul nodded in agreement, poking his head out. He looked back to the naked soldier and woman who helped him. He might never see them again, but he was truly in debt to the both of them. 

“Thanks for helpin’ me.” he whispered. The two smiled to the bassist.  “I don’t know how I’ll repay you both.” 

“Don’t mention it, you can buy me a beer later.” Rocky brushed him off. “Tell your girl we said hello, will you?” Rocky added on with a chuckle. Paul, awkwardly smiling at the remark, nodded before looking outside the tent again. 

“Wait.” Rocky stopped Paul. The bassist quickly turned only to be met with a helmet falling into his hands. “Covers your face and that mop of yours.” Paul gave a laugh and placed it on him, making sure to cover most of his face and hair. He also grabbed for his old clothes, he figured he could change back once he was far away enough or after he was with his mates again. With one last thankful remark to Rocky and Mary, Paul took a deep breath. He stared outside for a moment, then stuck one foot out like dipping a toe in a hot bath. He finally pushed his whole body out of the safety of the tent.  

The bassist glanced behind him to see a soldier supposedly guarding the tent, but instead was fast asleep. Paul controlled his heart beating and continued forward. A few soldiers walked by him with survivors around him, giving him no more than a glance. They were much too preoccupied with doing their job than to say anything. The bassist glanced at each soldier that passed and the most they would do is give a nod, to which Paul returned to avoid suspicion. Every time he would also take a quick look at the person with them. There seemed to be mostly young kids clinging to the soldier, crying for their mother or father, though neither would come to them anymore. Swallowing dryly, Paul swiftly moved forward. He was finally about to reach the vehicle, he could see it ahead with his own two eyes. He thought of his friend’s faces when they saw him. He would show he was alive, and tell them how hard he tried to get back to them. That he didn’t give up and refused to leave them behind. He reached into his pocket and felt the cool edge of the key. Just as Paul approached the vehicle, a voice called out. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” called one soldier. Paul swallowed the large lump formed in his throat. He had to talk, he couldn’t ignore the soldier. Rocky might have been a kind guy, but that didn’t speak for all of them. “Hello?!” the forceful voice called again. Paul cleared his throat.  

“Just-er-going to look for survivors.” Paul spoke in his Elvis voice, lowering it as low as he could. He would laugh at how comedic it was, and how John would mock him if he were here if he wasn’t so frozen in fear.  

“We have men on it already.” the soldier answered. Paul internally cursed and was practically throwing a silent fit. He was so close, but now something else was in his way. The bassist resisted the urge to bite his nails or lips, as that would be a clear reveal that something was wrong. Instead he kept his composure, and only turning his head slightly. The soldier didn’t recognize his face, Paul had the night and the helmet to thank for that. Paul drew in a quick breath. 

“I was ordered to check outside the city.” Paul said, forcing himself to not slip into his Liverpudlian accent. The soldier eyed him, giving an unconvinced hum.  

“Ordered by whom?”  

Fuck. Paul cursed in his mind again.  

“By the l-lieu-“ Paul stuttered, he couldn’t remember how to form the exact word. All that went through his mind was every swear word in the English language, but none of them were related to military terms. 

“The lieutenant ordered you?” he questioned, finishing the sentence. “Damn, you’re really that shook up over this, huh? This your first time overseas?” 

“First time in a pandemic.” Paul answered with a hint of snark.  

“Watch your mouth, I’ve been in this military for three years. Figures that Lieutenant  Robert would put a new kid to go out, he doesn’t care.” Paul nodded, pretending to follow and know who exactly he was talking about. “You want me to talk to him and get him to trade you with someone else?” 

“ _No!_ ” Paul nearly shrieked, his accent coming to close to slipping. The soldier jumped back with a short yelp. Paul calmed down again. “Erm, I mean, no that’s not needed. I want to do this.” 

“You sure?” Paul told him he was completely sure, that he wanted to do this on his own. The soldier eyed him up again and agreed.  

Fine, hope you make it back.” 

“I do too.” Paul said with a short wave as he turned to the vehicle.  

“Hey, also tell someone to get you new clothes, not some goddamn hand me downs. You look like you’re five!” the soldier laughed as Paul got into the vehicle. Giving a little laugh of his own, Paul turned the key in the ignition and started the jeep. He let put a long breath now, rubbing his hands along the wheel. It had only been a little over a day, but it feels like he’s been separated from his bandmates forever. He hurried off down the city street, back to where he came from, straight to the country. He wouldn’t let another thing stand in his way, and he certainly wouldn’t run off.  

 

\--- 

Hours passed as the boys sat tied up in the cellar. Desmond watched them, sometimes standing, sometimes sitting. He would talk a bit to them with what seemed to be memories of before, then he would break down into tears which would result in him hanging on John’s neck. He would hold John repeating the name “Molly” over and over as he shed more salty tears on his skin. John would then feel shaking fingers in his hair and dry lips on his cheeks. He would just twist his face and lean away until he went away.  

Usually when Desmond had his outbursts, he’d walk off to the rotting bodies, and digs his fingers into the blackening skin and ripping chunks off. Bringing it over, Desmond would hold the flesh up to each of their faces, urging them to eat. The boys would seal their lips as the stink invaded their nostrils. George at one point could be heard gagging once again, then a loud cry as the meat was dropped into his lap. The younger guitarist squirmed and thrashed, trying to rid himself of it. But Desmond would just leave more of it not only on George, but on Ringo and John too. It got to the point where they practically became numb to the smell, not even giving it notice anymore. 

Ringo, slumping against John as Desmond rambled on about something he couldn’t be bothered to understand, heard George whimper. The drummer thought he was hearing things until he heard yet another high pitched whimper. 

“Geo?” Ringo whispered, giving his best nudge. George was trembling, and he could easily feel his shaking getting worse.  

“I don’t wanna die, Ritchie…” George replied, his voice low and tight. Ringo’s entire body began to freeze like ice. He wanted to hold his mate, and tell him comforting words that it would all be alright, they would get out of this. However, the longer they sat in the stuffy, putrid basement, the more the drummer was sure of their fate. Still, he wished he could reach out for the younger guitarist and lie to him, especially when he heard a hoarse cry escape from him.  

“Georgie, it-it will be alright.” Ringo swallowed.  

“I don’t wanna die.” he said again.  

“Geo.” Ringo said, worried Desmond would stop his ramble to direct his attention to George. 

“No, Ritchie, it won’t be alright! I don’t wanna die, I DON’T WANNA DIE!” he sobbed, thrashing and throwing his body around and hitting against John and George. Desmond obviously took notice and rose from his crouched position, walking to George.  

“I’m sorry…” the man knelt and held George’s head, catching the tears that fell from his eyes. George only responded with a violent shake of his head, then a louder scream.  

“GET  _AWAY_!” George shrieked, trembling and still shaking his head.  

“It must already be happening.” Desmond said mainly to himself.  

“Nothing’s happening, you fucking idiot!” the drummer shouted, baring his teeth. He tried to keep himself under control, but with George absolutely losing it, he could no longer hold himself back. Ringo felt a hard tug on his hair by Desmond as he got close to his face.  

“Don’t you  _dare_  talk to me that way!” he pulled his hair harder, causing the drummer to yelp. Suddenly Desmond moved from his face. “I know you can’t control it, though. No one can control themselves once this virus takes over them.” he said, releasing Ringo. “You’re all so sick because of me, but it’s okay because I’m going to finish what I started by keeping us in this godforsaken house.” 

“No, no, no, no, no…” George repeated over and over to himself, chanting it like a magic spell. Desmond walked off, ignoring George as he brought back a gasoline can. He dropped the can beside them, even if they didn’t recognize the can, the strong smell was a dead giveaway. George’s movements became violent again, another cry ripped from his throat. John himself wanted to follow with the same actions, but he just didn’t have it in him. Instead, he stared with wild eyes and a slack jaw.  

“You can’t do this, we ‘aven’t changed!!” John cried out.  

“Not fully, but it should only be a few more minutes by the looks of the boys. I’m surprised at how long you fought it, you were never the strongest lady, but I never cared about that.” he said. John wanted to knock the man’s teeth out so badly, he kept picturing getting free and just tackling Desmond to the ground. Just coming down on him until there was nothing but a bloody pulp of a man under him, and it drove the older guitarist insane that he couldn’t do just that. 

“Besides, I can tell it’s close.” Desmond added. 

“And why’s that?” John snarled. 

“You all are beginning to smell like death, that’s the first sign.” he said, completely oblivious to the fact that he had been dropping  _rotten flesh_  on them for the past hours. To him, it was just regular meat, and his family was just too sick to think of eating. George screamed out protests that it wasn’t them. 

“ _YOU_  did this to us!!” he yelled, voice cracking at the end.  

“That’s enough!” Desmond shot. “I can tell the change is about to happen, I can’t put it off any longer.” With that, he grabbed the can and doused them with the flammable substance. The smell was just as strong, making them go dizzy for a second. John swore he almost was knocked out from the smell as it stained his clothes.  

“I’m sorry, lads.” John said to his bandmates.  

“For what, John?” Ringo asked, the fact that this was the end hitting him.  

“For acting like a complete prick, for letting Paul leave without us, for fucking everything.”  John said through shallow breaths. Ringo shook his head, tears forming in his blue eyes.  

“Don’t be, John, at least we’re together.”  

 

\--- 

Paul brought the jeep to a screeching halt in front of the all too familiar home. Throwing the helmet aside, he peered up at the house, jumping from the car, and speeding forwards. He couldn’t care less where Desmond was or if he heard, all he cared about was getting out with his friends. He just hoped he wasn’t too late. The door easily opened, the lock being broken thanks to John, and hung loosely open from its hinges.  

The bassist  himself inside with a shout.  

“George! Ritchie! John!” he called out with his hands cupped around his mouth. When he got no answer, not even one from Desmond, he began to grow worried. He wondered where they were at. A conclusion then came to him, they must be in the bedrooms asleep.  

“It is fairly late at night.” Paul said to himself, panting a bit. Sprinting up the steps, he tried again to call for his three friends. 

“George!! Ritch!! JOHN!!” he made his voice practically boom and shake the walls, hoping to wake the entire place. This was no time to sleep, they had to hurry. He threw open the first bedroom door and ran inside. He grasped at the duvet and sheets, wildly throwing them to the side, but John was nowhere to be seen.  

“Shit!!” Paul cursed loudly, running to the next room, ignoring his lungs begging for air. The next room was just as empty, all three beds sitting untouched. Paul pulled and twisted his own hair, he could have ripped it out if he truly wanted to. His friends had completely vanished. Paul began to wonder if they left to go find him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _fuck, FUCK!!_ ” Paul gave another tug at his messy hair, moving madly about the small room, hoping to find them hiding under his nose. They weren’t. 

“I CAME BACK FOR YOU!!” Paul screamed. “WHERE THE  _FUCK_  ARE YOU?!!” Paul collapsed to his knees, holding his body. There was no other place to look. Where else could there be?! Where else-  

The thought occurred to Paul as if it were just whispered into his ear by an unknown force. 

 _The cellar_.  

It was unlikely, but Paul remembered that place Desmond said he always went off to, and he was growing desperate. He had to check, he had to make sure before pronouncing them missing, but there wasn’t much time. Getting to his worn down feet, Paul hurried out of the room, down the steps, but before going back outside, he made a stop in the kitchen to grab one thing. Digging through the drawers, Paul picked the sharpest kitchen knife he could find, then rushed back into the darkness, and behind the house where he was sure he’d find the entrance to the cellar. And he was right. 

George stopped crying after a few more minutes. He had no more tears left, only a few gasps and whimpers. He could hear the can being placed back on the floor, but George held back any other noise.  

“Cheer up, lads.” John said in his usual tone. “After all, we lived a good life. Bit of music, bit of drugs, bit of pussy…bit of cock too. What else is there to life after that?” John dryly laughed.  

“I suppose.” George mumbled.  

“Not much else, eh?” Ringo said. “Guess so.”  

“There you go. Don’t be afraid.” John told them, looking to Desmond who had already pulled out one of his matches. “I’m not.”  

Paul pulled the cellar open, only to be knocked back by the stench of gasoline, vomit, and God knows what else.  

“Jesus, what is that??” he yelled, taking a long breath, and throwing himself in.  

The boys heard the sound of the bassist’s voice and lifted their heads.  

“Either we’ve gone as crazy as him, or I just heard Paul!” Ringo said.  

“George! Ritch! John!” Paul bellowed, even causing Desmond to look up from his matches before he could swipe. “Are you lot down here?!” 

“YES!” they joyfully shouted. “WE’RE HERE, WE’RE HERE!!”  Paul didn’t need to hear anymore, and rushed down the steps, almost tripping over the drooping pants he still wore. At the final step, the bassist felt faint at the sight. His friends, soaked in what he could only guess was gasoline, rotting meat all around them, and Desmond standing there with a match.  

“What the fuck are you DOING?!!” Paul held the knife tightly in his hand, readying himself as he hopped down from the last step. With a jump, Desmond knocked the can over, spilling gasoline everywhere, including under his feet.  

“You’re back!” he exclaimed. “You must’ve known your fate would be the same, but don’t worry, there’s still time for me to help.” 

“What do you  _mean?!_ ” Paul stepped forward, eyes focused on his frightened friends as they sat, bound on the floor. 

“The infection, the virus, it can only be destroyed by fire! Just like anything else on this unforgiving planet, it can all be destroyed by fire.” he then lot the match and held it up, seeming to marvel at the bright, orange color. “I’ll destroy the virus for you and for them, it’ll be okay.” Paul’s eyes grew as he held the lit match near them.  

“NO!!” Paul leapt towards him without even thinking, and tackled him to the hard floor, away from the three, near the stream of gasoline that leaked out like a river. Desmond held the match up, trying to not let it fall when the bassist forced him down.  

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH THEM!!” Paul delivered a blow to Desmond’s nose, hearing a crack as his fist collided with the bone. The lit match fell to the ground, almost instantly igniting the liquid around them. The three boys slinked and pushed away, sweat forming from the heat and adrenaline as flames rose around the bassist and man. 

“Stop this!! I’m helping you, don’t you SEE?!” Desmond grasped at the knife that went unused in the bassist’s other hand and tore it away. Using his strength, Desmond pushed Paul through the flames and onto the ground just outside the ring that seemed to form and then become one large flame. Paul could barely feel the burns, and his heart beat a hundred beats per second. “You stupid boy! You’ve doomed us all!” he shoved the blade into Paul’s right arm. That was the loudest and most agonized scream Paul ever released. Louder than any recorded scream in one of their songs, and louder than any fans.  

“PAUL!” John screeched equally as loud, still helping George and Ringo back away from the fire. Paul gripped his arm, screwing his eyes shut. Desmond loomed over him watching Paul writhe in pain.  

“GET UP, PAUL!!” cried George. At least, that was He was grateful to be left handed because in that moment, he took his chance and took another swing at Desmond, then another and he swore a tooth fell out this time. But when Desmond didn’t move off of him, Paul reached up and dug his fingernails in any part of his face he could reached and ripped them downwards. That did it. Desmond released an agonized howl as he held his bleeding cheek and falling to his side. Forcing himself up, Paul was too afraid to remove the knife, as he feared he would bleed out. He gawked for a moment before remembering where he was. 

“Fucking HELL!!” Desmond howled, thick blood coming from his mouth and nose. 

Desmond rose, staring him down through a deathly glare filled with ice that could easily put of the flames that grew behind him.  

“You stupid, little boy!!” Desmond grasped at the fabric of Paul’s hanging shirt, trying to pull him forward. He expected a struggle, but the bassist had a different plan. He allowed Desmond to pull him forward barely putting any weight down. Not expecting such an easy pull, the man yanked forward and stumbled backwards. Paul snapped his body back as the flames grew close, and Desmond lost his grip on him, sending him forward into the fire. He made no noise as he fell in, with the exception of some garbled noise. Hazel, bloodshot eyes stared as the body disappeared within the fire without another sound. Again, Paul forgot where he was. Was he going into shock? He had no time to think about that as the shouts from his friends brought him back.  

“Paul, as much as I love George and Rings here, could you please get us out??” John called. Paul smiled widely and turned to them.  

“Cut me a little break, Lennon, I do have a knife in one arm don’t I?” Paul said, ripping a piece of the loose fabric off of the shirt. He gripped the knife, readying himself to pull it out, when something blistering hot grabbed his ankle. He looked down to a horrifying sight of Desmond’s upper body. His burning hand grasped tightly at his ankle and Paul saw his blister-filled, face that looked to be melting right before his eyes.  

“OOH OOPID OY LOOK AT OOH DID!!” he tried to speak but could not even form his lips to correctly pronounce anything. A few blisters popped on his hands, oozing white puss onto the military uniform. With a hard pull, the bassist yank the knife out and bent over to slash at the man’s hand, then stabbed into it the same way he had with Paul’s arm. Finally, the grip loosened, and Desmond was swallowed once again by the fire.  

Paul didn’t take another chance and limped quickly to his friends side, cutting the rope around them. He then took care of the bleeding wound, tying the cloth tightly around it as his bandmates got to their feet. Three sets of arms wrapped around him, and tears soaked his clothes. Whether they were his friends or his own, Paul was not sure.  

“Christ, Macca, we thought you were gone!” John said, tears of relief freely falling. He didn’t bother to hide it this time, he didn’t care who saw him crying right now.  

“Thought we actually lost you!” Ringo added. 

“Thought you could get rid of me that easy, ha!” Paul joked, wiping his eye, then meeting with John’s face.  

“Could never dream of getting rid of you, Macca.” John pressed his lips to Paul’s for a brief second before being broken up by George and Ringo. 

“As fun as an orgy sounds right about now,” George said, coughing and choking on the thick smoke, “shouldn’t we be going??” Paul shot up.  

“You’re certainly right, Geo!” the bassist pushed and dragged them out of the flaming cellar and up the stairs. His shaking hands pushed the doors of the cellar wide open, and they all crawled out with their last bits of strength. George, John, and Ringo practically worshipped the dying grass under them, pressing their faces against it gratefully.  

“I would love to kiss the ground too, fellas, but we have to go!”  

“Where?” Ringo looked up.  

“London.” Paul said. “There’s help there, a base with tents and everything. They’re taking survivors over to America, but we have to get there before they leave!” Scrambling to their feet, they rejoiced at the news, including John, who wrapped his arms around Paul’s waist to lift him for a second.  

“Then what the hell are we doing shagging the dirt?! Let’s go!” John ran ahead, pulling Paul’s baggy sleeve. George and Ringo hastily followed to the front of the house and to the jeep.  

“Where did you get this??” George questioned hopping into the passenger seat.  

“From one of the soldiers.” Paul explained, sitting in the driver’s seat as the drummer sat behind George.  

“And the clothes? Please tell me you didn’t fuck one of them for the keys and stole their clothes too.” John said, taking the spot next to the drummer in the back seat. 

“Oh, that reminds me!” Paul tore off the military uniform, tossing it away. He reached out to a clueless John. “Hand me the clothes on the floor!” John did so, and Paul quickly changed while still sitting in his seat. The three turned away for a second, even John who comically shielded his eyes and then peeking through his fingers once Paul announced he was dressed.  

“That’s not an answer, Paulie.” John said. 

“It’s a long story, I’ll tell you on the way there, we have to hurry!” Stepping hard on the pedal, the vehicle sped off towards the city once more. Hopefully, this would be for the last time.  

The city was in the same ruins as when Paul left it not too long ago. Fires and bodies seemingly unmoved. Paul paid no mind, and neither did his bandmates, who were all too caught up in explaining what happened while Paul was gone, and listening to Paul. 

“You know, it figures that each person we meet if absolutely fucking crazy!” John said, rubbing his head.  

“I do feel bad for Desmond.” Ringo said. “After all, he just wanted to help his family.” 

“Yeah, by burning them and eating them.” John quickly answered.  

“You know what I mean, John. He was just an average bloke who got caught in the middle of Hell breaking loose, and he just…broke. I bet one of us could have ended up the same way.” The four quietly looked between each other as Paul drove through the desolate streets. The drummer was right, as much as they hated to admit it. Each of them must have hit their breaking point at least once, but thankfully they were there for each other to fix them up. Though, what became of Desmond could have certainly been one of them under the right circumstances. They would never admit it out loud though.  

“Where are they, Paul?” George questioned, searching around the destroyed buildings.  

“They’re coming up, I know it.” Paul assured the younger guitarist. 

“You don’t think they left already, do you?” the drummer wondered, biting his lip. Paul shuddered at the thought. After all this work, only to be left behind. He didn’t want to imagine. However, a certain sound put his fear to rest, the sound of helicopters, which only meant two things. They were close, and they were about to leave. The vehicle sped up and Paul gripped the wheel tightly, ignoring the pain in his arm.  

“Look! There it is!” Paul shouted, the sight of the tents and military coming into view. Stopping the vehicle a bit before approaching the base as to not arose suspicion, the bassist urged the three put of the vehicle and lead them forward. Their feet smacked against the concrete as they each cheered and shouted with delight. The wind from the helicopters blew debris against them, and they knew that it wouldn’t be much longer before take off.  

“Don’t leave!!” George cried out, the other boys mimicked him and yelled as well while running. They waved their arms and voices trying to gain the attention of at least one soldier. Finally one that was only dressed in boxers, socks and a white tank top turned to them. Paul easily recognized the face as Rocky and gave another shout as one of the helicopters looked to be rising. Rocky, giving a shout of his own, raised his hand in the air to whomever was piloting. The helicopter paused and slowly came back to the ground once the boys finally reached it. White flashes hit Paul’s eyes as his body finally began to fall into shock, as he began to slow down. He was sure he was about to fall when John’s hands quickly grabbed him and held him upright.  

“Holy shit.” Rocky said, approaching them and seeing the wound in Paul’s arm.  

“We made it, right?” Paul weakly asked, slumping against John.  

“There’s room for us isn’t there??” Ringo piped, gasping and panting. Him and George gripped their aching sides, staring at the half naked soldier.  

Rocky nodded, smiling to Paul. “You’re just in time.” Paul let out a sigh before falling faint for a second, then coming to. 

“He’ll be alright won’t he?” John urgently asked. Rocky explained that everyone would receive medical attention once back at the states. John grinned gratefully as the were led to the helicopter  

“Certainly is some friend you’ve got there.” Rocky told the boys. 

“Our one and only Paul.” agreed George.  

“Shame his girl isn’t here.” the boys gave confused glances to each other and assumed the soldier was just a fan and was referring to Jane. Paul chuckled a little, remembering he left that part out if his retelling. 

“Yeah, it is a shame.” Ringo said. “But he’s still got us.” John and George nodded along as Rocky shrugged. 

“You are all certainly close if he went through all that just to get you three.” 

“We’re incredibly close.” Paul said, gaining a laugh from John as they found four open spots. Resting against the seats, they each let out a long sigh, it was finally over.  

Ringo looked around at the other survivors, many being young women and children, each either crying or looking down at the floor. The drummer grimaced and leaned against the younger guitarist.  

“Most of them are all alone.” he whispered.  

“I’m glad you’re here, or I’d probably be just like them.” George whispered back, feeling a bit guilty for saying that. The two faced each other, knowing they couldn’t kiss in front of these people, but still feeling absolutely no eyes on them but each other’s. It was such an odd feeling to feel alone in a crowd after being so incredibly famous, but it was almost enjoyable for just a second. George quickly mouthed “I love you,” taking that chance to say so. Ringo mouthed it back, a tender smile on his tired face.  

John and Paul saw the two, then also stared at each other.  

“We don’t have to get all mushy do we?” John asked. Paul smiled and leaned his head on John’s shoulder.  

“I’m too exhausted.” he mumbled, thinking deeply on the whole experience. From Smith, to Billy, to Desmond. Thinking on everyone they lost. Mal, Neil, and Brian, each of them ripped away, but not them. Paul knew there had to be a reason the four of them were still there. Everything happened for a reason, and Paul was sure there was one for them.  

“You thinking about something, Macca?” John tenderly asked, putting his arm around his shoulders. Paul shook his head and looked upwards to the older guitarist’s brown eyes, then to George and Ringo who were now also looking at him.  

“It’s nothing, Johnny.” Paul said as the helicopters roared and they began to rise in the air. The boys felt themselves moving up and far away from where this all began, far away from each horrible memory, but also good ones. It was then that Paul thought of the reason. To bring more of their music and spread some hope among everyone who truly needed it, and as long as they all stuck together, they could do just that. Hell, if they could survive not only Beatlemania, but this too, then the bassist was sure they could survive anything. The four relaxed against each other, drifting off with the droning sound of the helicopter in the background. The warmth of each other’s bodies giving them the most relaxing feeling they ever felt during this whole apocalypse.  

                                                 **The End**  


End file.
